#Step 3: Take surveys

[gravegoer]

What if we get like an internal monologue of just how much Sevika is into you? Like if it’s her first day as counselor and she sees you walking around the halls helping out as an assistant. She can’t help but think reader is so damn cute! Maybe even reader flirts a little from afar <3

Pretty Piltie ⋆˚✿

thank you anon, and yes i love this, this is very cute ! i went a little different for some plot but i hope you like it :) i also have a few more pirate sevika fics coming out so look out for those ! coming sometime this week :) masterlist

After her first day on the council, she saw you in the hallway, walking around with your clipboard in your face. (Definitely in a hurry)

She raised an eyebrow at the pep in your step and the carelessness of you flipping through pages while walking. Before she could even move to the side, you bumped into her.

"I'm so sorry," You looked up at her with an embarrassed look on your face, "I thought the halls would be empty."

She couldn't even get a word out before your eyes widened, "Shit. The meeting is over, isn't it?"

You scurried to the doors she just came from, and she almost laughed at your actions. Even after the exasperating meeting she had a smile graced her lips.

Well, I could get used to that.

When she got home, her mind flashed back to the girl she encountered in the hallway, furrowing her brows. She tried to rid of the image. Maybe she was just thinking about it because it's the only exciting thing that occurred today. Yeah, that's it.

The next week, she had to come back for a second meeting, this time staying back longer to discuss things in finer details. A couple of councilors have already up and left as it was getting late.

After a few minutes, she saw you walk in with one of the council members. You had a nervous smile on your face while the older woman spoke to you.

Sevika let out a snort at your expression, finding it to be oddly cute but containing herself moments later. Although she couldn't stop eyeing you when you stood behind the councilors chair just across from her.

You were scrawling out things on your clipboard while the grey-haired woman in front of you spoke. Sevika was only half listening as her eyes bored into your face, taking in all your features.

I mean, who knew Piltover had princesses like this.

Suddenly, you looked up to make eye contact with Sevika, her brows 5 she averted eye contact to look at the woman in front of you.

She saw your smile from the corner of her vision when she looked away. Fuck.

It seemed like every time you looked away she stared back at you, she didn't come here to eye-fuck her co-workers assistant but damn.

She watched the way you tilted your head when hearing something strange, or raised your eyebrows at something controversial, bending over to whisper something in the ear of your boss.

All in all she was definitely lost in thought when someone called her name, "Sevika!"

She looked over at the woman beside her who spoke, "Shall I repeat myself? I say, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Sevika blanked. She racked her brain for an answer but the only one it was coming up with was the curve of your smile and the hue of your eyes.

She saw your surprised face and you mouthed something to her, "Say you agree."

She coughed into her fist before speaking, "I suppose that's fine."

The others looked at her suspiciously but carried on nonetheless. Throughout the rest of the meeting she made sure to pay close attention, so that she wouldn't slip up Infront of her co-workers again.

When the meeting was dismissed she was the last to leave, running her hand down her face in a way to ease her mind. She took a deep breath before stepping into the hall.

She was greeted with the sight of you talking to a few advisors, taking notes, and handing out papers. She found it endearing the way you bounced from person to person, engaging in conversation.

It seemed like you were taking peoples opinions for your survey. This was her chance to redeem herself. (She's embarrassed you had to help her earlier.

After speaking with an unfamiliar lanky man, you turned around and locked eyes with Sevika once again.

You waved at her, flashing her a cute grin. But before you could take a step towards her, your boss was calling her away.

Immediately, you deadpanned and pulled your lips into an exaggerated frown. Sevika smirked at your expressions and flicked her hand teasingly in a shoo, motion.

She would most definetly be seeing you again.

i know this is a bit shorter than my usual, spare me

im also having major writers block and i have 20+ asks so 🙏 let me cook here, i also have many projects i want to get to

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #26

July 5-12 2024

The IRS announced it had managed to collect $1 billion in back taxes from high-wealth tax cheats. The program focused on persons with more than $1 million in yearly income who owned more than $250,000 in unpaid taxes. Thanks to money in Biden's 2022 Inflation Reduction Act the IRS is able to undertake more enforcement against rich tax cheats after years of Republicans cutting the agency's budget, which they hope to do again if they win power again.

The Biden administration announced a $244 million dollar investment in the federal government’s registered apprenticeship program. This marks the largest investment in the program's history with grants going out to 52 programs in 32 states. The President is focused on getting well paying blue collar opportunities to people and more people are taking part in the apprenticeship program than ever before. Republican pledge to cut it, even as employers struggle to find qualified workers.

The Department of Transportation announced the largest single project in the department's history, $11 billion dollars in grants for the The Hudson River Tunnel. Part of the $66 billion the Biden Administration has invested in our rail system the tunnel, the most complex Infrastructure project in the nation would link New York and New Jersey by rail under the Hudson. Once finished it's believed it'll impact 20% of the American economy by improving and speeding connection throughout the Northeast.

The Department of Energy announced $1.7 billion to save auto worker's jobs and convert factories to electronic vehicles. The Biden administration will used the money to save or reopen factories in Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Maryland, and Virginia and retool them to make electric cars. The project will save 15,000 skilled union worker jobs, and created 2,900 new high-quality jobs.

The Department of Housing and Urban Development reached a settlement with The Appraisal Foundation over racial discrimination. TAF is the organization responsible for setting standards and qualifications for real estate appraisers. The Bureau of Labor Statistics last year found that TAF was 94.7% White and 0.6% Black, making it the least racially diverse of the 800 occupations surveyed. Black and Latino home owners are far more likely to have their houses under valued than whites. Under the settlement with HUD TAF will have to take serious steps to increase diversity and remove structural barriers to diversity.

The Department of Justice disrupted an effort by the Russian government to influence public opinion through AI bots. The DoJ shut down nearly 1,000 twitter accounts that were linked to a Russian Bot farm. The bots used AI technology to not only generate tweets but also AI image faces for profile pictures. The effort seemed focused on boosting support for Russia's war against Ukraine and spread negative stories/impressions about Ukraine.

The Department of Transportation announces $1.5 billion to help local authorities buy made in America buses. 80% of the funding will go toward zero or low-emission technology, a part of the President's goal of reaching zero emissions by 2050. This is part of the $5 billion the DOT has spent over the last 3 years replacing aging buses with new cleaner technology.

President Biden with Canadian Prime Minster Justin Trudeau and Finnish President Alexander Stubb signed a new agreement on the arctic. The new trilateral agreement between the 3 NATO partners, known as the ICE Pact, will boost production of ice breaking ships, the 3 plan to build as many as 90 between them in the coming years. The alliance hopes to be a counter weight to China's current dominance in the ice breaker market and help western allies respond to Russia's aggressive push into the arctic waters.

The Department of Transportation announced $1.1 billion for greater rail safety. The program seeks to, where ever possible, eliminate rail crossings, thus removing the dangers and inconvenience to communities divided by rail lines. It will also help update and improve safety measures at rail crossings.

The Department of the Interior announced $120 million to help tribal communities prepare for climate disasters. This funding is part of half a billion dollars the Biden administration has spent to help tribes build climate resilience, which itself is part of a $50 billion dollar effort to build climate resilience across the nation. This funding will help support drought measures, wildland fire mitigation, community-driven relocation, managed retreat, protect-in-place efforts, and ocean and coastal management.

The USDA announced $100 million in additional funds to help feed low income kids over the summer. Known as "SUN Bucks" or "Summer EBT" the new Biden program grants the families of kids who qualify for free meals at school $120 dollars pre-child for groceries. This comes on top of the traditional SUN Meals program which offers school meals to qualifying children over the summer, as well as the new under President Biden SUN Meals To-Go program which is now offering delivery of meals to low-income children in rural areas. This grant is meant to help local governments build up the Infrastructure to support and distribute SUN Bucks. If fully implemented SUN Bucks could help 30 million kids, but many Republican governors have refused the funding.

USAID announced its giving $100 million to the UN World Food Program to deliver urgently needed food assistance in Gaza. This will bring the total humanitarian aid given by the US to the Palestinian people since the war started in October 2023 to $774 million, the single largest donor nation. President Biden at his press conference last night said that Israel and Hamas have agreed in principle to a ceasefire deal that will end the war and release the hostages. US negotiators are working to close the final gaps between the two sides and end the war.

The Senate confirmed Nancy Maldonado to serve as a Judge on the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals. Judge Maldonado is the 202nd federal Judge appointed by President Biden to be confirmed. She will the first Latino judge to ever serve on the 7th Circuit which covers Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin.

Bonus: At the NATO summit in Washington DC President Biden joined 32 allies in the Ukraine compact. Allies from Japan to Iceland confirmed their support for Ukraine and deepening their commitments to building Ukraine's forces and keeping a free and Democratic Ukraine in the face of Russian aggression. World leaders such as British Prime Minster Keir Starmer, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz, French President Emmanuel Macron, and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, praised President Biden's experience and leadership during the NATO summit

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

[sunflowersteves]

um so getting fucked by logan in public place...i mean getting fucked by logan-

(please know the way i'm salivating over this man is downright sinful.)

author's note || babes,,, i feel u. this man is in my dreams 24/7. i lov u for requesting this <3

summary || basically, you defend Logan and he quite literally goes feral.

warnings || fluff, some angst, anti-mutant rhetoric, SMUT [minors dni], P in V sex, praise kink, public-sex, desperation

Logan was used to being alone. It was second nature for him to blend into a crowd and survey the bustling fullness of the night. Usually, he hightailed to the back of the bar, his eyes studying carefully while he nursed the beer in his hand. 

When Logan met you, though, some things changed a bit. Instead of being at the back of the bar, he usually sat right next to you. While he wasn’t much for PDA and often abstained from it, he still let the hardness of his thigh rest against yours. It was such a simple touch, but you knew how much Logan needed to breathe in your presence. It soothed him. 

Tonight was like any other Friday night. You both wanted to go to the bar for a little bit of fun before another mission killed the atmosphere. Logan usually has a beer in his hand and his other subtly resting against your back. His eyes would bore into yours as he watched you talk about your day. It was always something he looked forward to. The ways that your eyes would sparkle underneath the illuminating bar lights. 

The bar was packed tonight, though. Bodies were practically on top of one another—playing pool, dancing to the stereo, or attempting to chat up someone to take home. Your idea to go to the bar had not just been your own. You could hear Logan’s heartbeat race as someone kept bumping into him—despite the very menacing aura rolling off of him. 

So, in response, you were currently nursing a whiskey all by your lonesome. It wasn’t that you were lonesome, it was much of the opposite. Logan had stepped out of the bar for a quick smoke, wanting to calm the nerves that pricked his skin. Logan needed a breather. He never wanted to leave you by yourself—although he knew you were completely fine. He just didn’t want to. You smiled at him with one of those breathtaking ones that caught his breath. 

“Go. I’ll still be here.” You whispered. God, he loved you. It was so evident, yet the years of having a broken heart shattered his ideas of loving someone again. The pain was etched across his chest, back, organs—everything. Add the number of people surrounding him, caging him in had reached an overwhelming capacity. So, he stepped out toward the back and dragged his cigar across his lips. He let the nicotine softly quiet the aches in his chest. 

You sipped the bitter taste of Jim Beam, your body almost shuddering at the hot feeling of liquor going down your throat. You felt the buzz already—not having much of anything to eat despite Logan asking if you had eaten. He handed you a granola bar in the car. He already knew the answer to his question. During a heated discussion with Scott, you had completely forgotten to eat some lunch. 

Logan was as caring as always—rubbing a hand across your wrist to ask if you had anything to eat today. However, your thoughts of him were screeched to a halt from a presence coming straight toward you. 

“Where’d the big guy go?”

Your eyebrow quirks up at the sensation of a tall silhouette behind you. You didn’t respond, though. You and Logan were used to the comments—usually, fans wanting pictures with the well-known X-men. Those you didn’t mind. Men like these, though? The ones that taunt you for your differences, the ones that make your skin itch.

“C’mon. That mutant scum isn’t here anymore. No need to act so tough.” 

You huffed out of your nose in disgust. There was a sizzle underneath your chest that made you want to scream in anger. You held your ground, though, knowing that it wouldn’t help very much. You knew men like these. Any use of your powers could end up with a call to the police and another article about how “violent” mutants are.

Although, not budging made the stranger even more pissed than he was. “You’re too pretty to be with a beast like him. Didn’t you hear, anyway?” This man just wouldn’t stop fucking talking. “The Wolverine hurts anything he touches. He’s a fuck up. A low life. A fucking animal—” 

Now that comment is what made you turn your head. You had heard enough before you slammed your glass on the bar counter. The man beside you jumped in surprise. A scowl on your lips, nostrils flared. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

Logan’s eyebrows twitched as he heard the snarl in your voice. He burnt out the cigar on his skin—slightly wincing at the sizzle of his skin. Worry surged through his chest at the mere idea of your discomfort. A primal need to protect the thing he loves was fogging his brain. The leather of his jacket was straining against the bulge of his muscles as he sauntered back through the bar. His shoulders were taunted back, surveying the bar as everyone’s head turned to you and some guy. 

His eyes widened at the sight before him. You had bunched the collar of the man, lifting him off the floor. Your eyes were wild with anger, your teeth clenched tightly as you spoke to the stranger. “If you ever talk about the Wolverine like that again, I’m going to cut off your head and feed it to your fucking wife—” The boom of your voice echoed through the bar. It was so silent that a pin could drop. 

You could handle comment after comment thrown at you. That, you knew quite well. However, you knew how Logan actually felt about the comments. They called him an animal. A beast. They forced him into something he was always scared of. Himself. You knew him differently. He was Logan. He would make you a cup of coffee every morning, adding a sprinkle extra of cinnamon that he knew you loved. He left fuzzy blankets in his room after the first time you spent the night with him. You commented how itchy his sheets were and ever since, he silently wraps you up in one with an arm attached to your waist. He would place a protective arm in front of you during missions—always assessing the danger to make sure that you would never get hurt. He was so much more than anything they portrayed him as. He was human and everyone—including the team—sometimes forgets that. 

“Darlin’—” You felt your shoulder visibly relax as his large hand enveloped your soft skin. “They’re not worth it.” 

Your heart was beating fast against your ears. You did everything in your power to not throw the man across the room. Your teeth snarled at him—the guy visibly winces, expecting the worst. You slowly lowered him to the ground and let go of his collar. 

“Fucking mutants.” He spits before backing up as far away from the two of you as possible. You turn to move again and the guy gets startled and jumps in fear. Logan squeezes your shoulder to try and ground you once again.

He sees you visibly relax, some regret etched into your features. He knew that you didn’t want to cause a scene but you couldn’t help it. He knew that feeling quite well—when it came to you, he was the same. 

“Let's go home.” 

Logan was silent as the two of you walked out of the bar. You cringed at the pure stillness of the night. You didn’t mean to do more than you should have. It was just an instinct, especially as the vexation flowed through your veins. 

You stop in your tracks for a moment. You opened your mouth to say something which prompted his steps to a halt, as well. “Logan, I’m—” He never let you finish. He grabs your shoulders and shoves you against the brick wall of the bar. You let out a gasp, but it’s quickly swallowed by his mouth on yours. 

His heart is beating fast, echoing against his ears. For once in his life, someone had protected him. Someone had stood up and defended him. Sure, Charles has done that many times, but not from an act of pure love. Charles believed in him. You loved him. 

He has this feeling in his chest. He wantonly has an itch to devour you. He wants to lick the sides of your body and ravish in the pure essence of you. He’d never had this feeling before—this animalistic, pure affection was pounding against his chest. 

“You just couldn’t help it, huh, princess?” He grunted against your ear. His hands caged you in, one resting beside your head and the other deliciously attached to your hip. His teeth nipped at the skin below your ear. “You just wanted to defend your old man, hmm?” He hummed. 

The hand on your hip lowered to your thigh and squeezed the plush flesh. You were wearing a pretty dress tonight, one that you knew he would rip off later. You just weren’t expecting it now. “I just—” He breathed in the smell of your shampoo and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t let him talk about you like that, Lo.” 

You let out a whine as he growled against your ear. He was insatiable—unhinged. Something was brewing beneath his stomach that he had never felt before. “Oh, pretty girl. You wanted to protect me?” His lips were at the shell of his ear. You nodded. You almost felt shy now, a direct contrast from earlier. 

Your leg moved to wrap around his own, curling right around his hip. He smirked at the sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah, I know, baby. God, you’re just so fucking good to me.” You were both losing your patience from the pliant kissing and stumbling of limbs. You both were desperate and wanting of one another. 

His lips lowered down your neck. The hand that was caged against the side of your head was now pressed up against your breast. You whined, “They can’t—” You gasped as he squeezed the plush flesh. “They can’t say those things. Made me—” He smiles, lips curling into a little smirk. He moves his arm down to your aching cunt. “Made me see red, Lo.” 

Your hips buck into his hand, the wall scratching against your shoulders as you’re shoved more into the brick. “Yeah? Wanted to hurt him, baby?”

He groaned into your ear at the thought of blood covering your hands from destroying the man trying to insult him. It only fueled more of his fire. He couldn’t take it anymore—mouth still sticking to yours in a gruesome dance across your lips. The saliva spread to his beard, messy and filthy. 

“Wanted—ah—wanted to see him pay.” His hand fully dipped between your panties, bunching up your dress as he lifted you up against the wall. It happened swiftly, yet your mind burned with want and need.

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” He teased your slick entrance, making your legs instinctively pull him closer. “Logan, please.” 

He could smell the way you were leaking for him, spreading the slick around with his fingers. He let out a growl and swiftly unbuckled his belt. He couldn’t wait any longer and neither could you. 

“Can’t wait to fill you. Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.” He moves your panties with his thumb and swiftly glides in his wide girth. You moan in unison, but you swallow his own and yours with a long kiss on his lips. Your tongues swirl together and you could’ve sworn he pulled you even further. You could feel every inch of him inside of you. He moaned at the stretch of your cunt wrapped around him. “Feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna—fuck—gonna make you mine.”

Your head hits the back of the wall and you start to feel fuzzy in the head. “Lo–” You whine. “Love you.” You whisper into the night air. Something hits Logan in the chest and he can’t help but snap his hips into you even further. 

It makes you see stars, but all Logan can think about is how much he loves you. His chest was burning with something different—something more primal than he had ever felt. It made him want to drool, place his head against you, and live there forever. 

“Love you too, baby.” He grunts. He wanted to do this properly—to be a gentleman. He wanted to take you out to dinner, make sweet love to you, and then tell you those three little words. It completely went out the window when you defended him—when you stood up for him like no one else has. You completely had his back and he couldn’t help but let the happiness burst through his veins. “Love you so fucking much. You know that, baby?”

He makes you turn your head towards him to look him in the eye. You nod immediately, but that isn’t enough for Logan. “Need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“You love me. I know you love me.” He groans and pumps his cock straight onto your cervix. It makes you squeal at the sensation and he feels the slick run down to his balls. The cold night air made goosebumps on your skin, though, your mind not even noticing. 

“Fuck, I love the way you sound. Don’t be shy, baby.” You fully moan, more than likely the sound echoing across the bar parking lot. “That’s it.” You both were beginning to feel dizzy with love and lust. He couldn’t stop staring into your eyes. He was too immersed in them and he never wanted to look away from them again. 

“Fuck, Logan!” 

“Let go, baby. Let me feel you.” The coil finally snapped as you unleashed the precipice of your orgasm. Your body shuttered against him, all while he was singing praises in your ear. You clench around him so hard that in one thrust, he’s filling you up to the brim. He slowly pumps his salty cum into you, your body convulsing with pure ecstasy. 

You start to giggle in his arms about the whole night. Logan couldn’t help but smile too. You were just too contagious. 

“Let’s go home, Lo.”

He couldn’t help but smile brightly at the thought. He couldn’t suppress the pure joy like he normally could.

“Yeah, okay.” He whispers.

You were home to him. 

He never had to do anything alone anymore. He certainly didn’t have to deal with the demons attached to his hurt heart.

He finally had you.

[beomcoups]

Legal Briefs

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lawyer!Dokyeom x fem!reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, corporate au, 18+, non-idol au 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, riding, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names, slight exhibitionism, oral (m. receiving), clit stimulation, squirting 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dokyeom is stressed out over his case, and you use your brain in more ways than one to help him relax.

AN: Thank you to @miabebe for beta reading this for me at the last minute and @miniseokminnies being lovely. This is a repost, as this fic was originally written for another idol. I have decided to edit it and make it fit Dokyeom more. I hope you enjoy it <3. Also, tagging @onlyseokmins because that's your man, duh, lol. If you want to be tagged in future fics, sign up here🤎

Dokyeom is one of the most prominent corporate lawyers in your country, and you understand how hard he works daily to maintain that reputation. You were a lawyer when you met him, so you know the ins and outs of the legalities and how stressful it can be defending clients. Your first time seeing him was at a kickboxing gym you both frequented and then on the opposite end of the court, duking it out to protect your clients involved in a breach of contract. You may have won that battle, but in the end, Dokyeom won your heart, and you left the corporate life behind to be a housewife. 

You walk into the swanky thirty-floor office building, and the security guard greets you as you approach the elevator. You are holding Dokyeom’s favorite lunch, pizza with cheese sticks, secured in a heated lunch box. You also brought fruit and juice, which he has been into lately. It’s a nice day outside, and what would be better than spending lunch with your husband?

You hum your way up to the 20th floor, greeted by the receptionists as the elevator doors open. The anticipation is building, and the excitement and butterflies in your stomach are brewing as you make your way to his office. You speak to everyone that makes eye contact with you. Everyone knows you as the boss’s wife, a hotshot lawyer, giving it all up for love. 

“Hi,” his secretary greets you nervously as you approach her desk. “He seems a bit stressed out today. That case with the pharmaceutical company isn’t going well, and I’m pretty sure I heard papers flying around.”

This concerns you, as it is different from Dokyeom to lose his cool like that. You thank her and tap quietly on the office door, waiting to hear his voice before entering. 

“Yes?” His smooth voice makes your heart jump. 

You open the door, and your eyes widen at the scene before you. There are papers and folders all over the floor. Dokyeom is lying on the sofa, his suit jacket covering his face and his arms folded on his chest.

“I take it you’re having a bad day?” You ask gently, setting the lunch down on his desk.

His face lights up when he lays his eyes on you, jacket falling to the floor as he jumps up to greet you. 

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” he replies before getting up and kissing your cheek. “I would’ve cleaned up.”  

“And miss all this drama?” you tease him. “Come on, I’ll help you put everything back.”

You survey the papers and put the files back in their folders. You know where everything goes because you helped him set up his file system to make his life easier. You may not be practicing law right now, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t had to use your expertise a few times to help your husband win a few cases. You initially quit your previous firm because you felt burnt out and needed a break. Then, when you got married, you wanted to spend time being a new wife and try for a family. Dokyeom supported you in all of that. He never made you feel inferior or less than for stepping away from your career to be at home. Now, it’s been two years, and the children haven’t come yet, but maybe it’s just not time, as lately, you have been missing practicing law.

Dokyeom helps you and profusely apologizes. “You don’t need to apologize,” you wave him off. But this is not like you; what happened?”

His expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. He takes a deep breath before putting the last envelope into the bookshelf. 

“I am missing a critical piece of evidence, a part of a contract that proves my client’s innocence,” Dokyeom begins, clutching onto the desk. “I know who to subpoena, but the judge is being a real asshole and won’t allow me to access those documents. So my client might lose, and then they’ll drop me, which means bye to our house.”

He removes his tie and takes a sip from his water bottle, his Adam's apple shifting as he gulps. Your very frustrated husband is also very hot, and it’s taking all your willpower to stay on task.

“Listen,” you redirect your focus to his problem. “There’s no guarantee that you will lose this case, and we definitely are not losing our house. Why don’t you eat the lunch I brought, and we will figure it out, okay?”

He nods and kisses you on the forehead, his way of saying thank you that still makes you feel warm inside. You watch him take out his lunch, and you start to eat yours, making small talk about your day as you dig through the cheese sticks. 

“When did you order this, babe?” Dokyeom asks, mouth stuffed with pepperoni and cheese. “You were cleaning up when I left for work.”

“I ordered it right before I came up here,” you say proudly, feeding him some of your pizza. “I got tired of eating lunch alone and wanted to see you. Looks like you needed me too.”

He gives you a kind smile that soothes your soul like a warm hug. You talk more about the case as you clear out your food containers. Dokyeom mentions that he has been trying to get the evidence to no avail for the past week. Watching him stressing himself out bothers you, as you know how hard he has worked on this case, and you want to see him succeed. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, skimming over everything to find a possible loophole. You can’t help but take in how handsome he looks, focused on his work, his jaw clenching as his frustration mounts. 

So, you came up with an idea.

“Hey, babe,” you get his attention, removing your cardigan. “I’m going to help you relax, okay?”

He nods, his shoulders still tense up from reading over the paperwork. You move behind him, relaxing your hands on his shoulders before you massage them, making him feel more at ease. You start unbuttoning his shirt, reaching down to rub his chest while leaving kisses on his neck.

“Well, this is one way to do it,” Dokyeom hums, setting down his pen. He moves his head and kisses you deeply, his hands gracing your face softly, pulling you deeper into his rapture of love. You make a move to sit on his lap, taking off your tank top and exposing your favorite bra that pushes up your breasts just right. 

“Was this always the plan?” He smirks, leaving kisses down your neck. His lips suck on your sweet-tasting skin, his tongue trailing down to the valley of your breasts.

“And if it was?” You move in front of him, sitting on his lap, and your skirt hikes over your hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

He chuckles and kisses you more, removing your bra and throwing it across the office. You lift and reach down, undoing his pants and lowering his briefs, feeling the growing bulge hardening along your slit. “No panties? Aw, baby…”

“What?” You smiled coyly. “Do you want me to leave? I can just get up—”

“W-what? No, no, it’s not that,” his cheeks turn pink in a panic. “I hate to rush, but I have to be in a meeting in twenty minutes,” Dokyeom’s breathing hitches as his hand touches his manhood, stroking his thick girth to your naked breasts and exposed ass. You lower yourself until you are on your knees, moving his hand away as you take over. You kiss his dick just the way he likes it, his legs tensing up as you take him in your mouth. His thickness takes over your mouth as you suck him good, your free hand playing with your clit as you watch him cock his head back and curse softly. 

“Baby, you are so good at this,” he murmurs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He gently fucks your face, pacing himself so he doesn’t blow his entire load down your throat. Your eyes lock with his as you take him in deeper, drops of saliva spilling out of the corner of your mouth. Dokyeom is ashamed to admit it, but he likes it when you look like this: the makeup on your sweet face ruined with tears because you sucked him off so well. You would never tell him this, but you love how he tastes. The way his smooth cock hits the back of your throat makes you dripping wet, and if you keep up any longer, you will cum on this floor. 

“H-honey,” he sputters. “I have 15 minutes. Get on top.”

You slowly take him out of your mouth with a pop, lifting yourself and positioning yourself to sink into him. You both groan in unison when you are entirely on his lap, your nails digging into the armrest of his chair.

“This won’t take long, I promise,” you mutter, giving yourself a few seconds to get used to his size before slowly grinding on him and enjoying the feeling of him being inside of you. His body tenses at your movements and his fingers massage your clit softly. You unexpectedly let out a loud moan, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

“I know this feels good, bouncing on my hard dick, but you are going to have to keep it down, princess,” he grits. 

Dokyeom knows what that does to you, calling you princess as he fucks you into an earth-shattering orgasm. You’re a squirter, and he knows that, so it was unsurprising that your lower halves were covered with your essence. Your eyes never leave each other, whispering I love you and trading meaningful kisses. Dokyeom’s head rolls back, whispering songs of praise as you continue to ride him on his office chair. 

“Baby, I’m close,” he whines, his hands gripping your hips. You grind on him hard, finding your clit and releasing again shortly after. Dokyeom follows right behind you, spilling deep inside of you as his head buries deep into your neck. As he slows down, he kisses you lovingly, making sure your cunt is full of his cum before pulling out. You're still trying to catch your breath when you climb off of him to clean yourself up. 

“Mr Lee?” His secretary’s voice booms through the speaker, startling you both. “Your meeting starts in five minutes.”

“O-okay.”

You can see the time on his laptop, and the 5-minute reminder before the meeting stops flashing wildly on his screen. You find your bra and hurriedly put it on, with Dokyeom already dressed and holding your tank top and cardigan.

“What?” You catch him staring at you curiously. 

“You are so bad.” “Well, isn’t that why you fell in love with me? Aside from me beating your ass in court, of course.”

You finish getting dressed, helping him put his tie back on, and kissing him goodbye before heading out the door. You catch a photo you missed picking up earlier, and something catches your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Babe.” You pick up the photograph and inspect it thoroughly. “What’s the name of the judge?”

“Judge Choi,” he responds, preparing himself for his meeting. “Why?”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the judge in the 17th court, would it?

You pull out your phone and look him up, confirming your suspicions. 

“Okay, I know that look,” Dokyeom comments, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s up?” 

“This judge used to give me shit when I was practicing, but I always found a way to get around him,” you start. “There was talk about him being a crooked judge and being paid off by companies, but I could never confirm it until now. Look at the picture.”

You show him the photograph of the rival company at an event, pointing at the missing piece of the puzzle: the judge and the company’s CEO, arm in arm, taking a picture. “That’s why the judge is shutting you down, babe,” you confirm. “He has ties to the other guys. Judge Choi should have recused himself a long time ago.”

Dokyeom looks at you, amazed that his wife could figure out why he had this roadblock. “God, what would I do without you?”

“You’d still be losing to me in court.” You kiss him goodbye again, letting him prepare to attend his meeting. You close the door, and his secretary smiles at you and motions for you to come closer to her. 

“You should be more careful in there, dear,” she advises. “The whole office heard you.”

[fayes-fics]

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 4

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha works together with you to help Widow and learns a bit more about just the kind of person you are.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Warnings: light angst, violence, hurt/comfort, fluff

Words: 4329

Natasha steps onto the rooftop of a building, her footsteps barely making a sound as she surveys the city sprawled out beneath her. The low hum of night traffic mixed with the distant murmur of voices, creating the familiar backdrop of New York City after dark.

She approaches the edge of the building, her gaze sweeping across the streets below, her mind preoccupied with the message you had sent her.

A quick glance at her phone confirmed the location and time. She was exactly where she needed to be, but there was no sign of you or your little companion yet.

Natasha lets out a quiet breath, pocketing her phone as her thoughts drift to you.

Despite the doubts her training pressed upon her, her instincts tell her you weren’t a bad person—that she could trust you.

But she couldn’t let her personal feelings interfere, not when so much was still uncertain.

Your situation was complicated, tangled in a web of dangerous choices, which meant Natasha had to remain cautious and vigilant.

That’s when she feels a subtle shift in the air, a sudden presence behind her.

Instinctively, Natasha whirls around, her hand snapping out to catch a wrist mid-motion.

Her eyes meet yours, and in the instant of realization, she halts the throw she was about to execute. Instead, the force just pulls you closer in the process, until your chest is pressed against hers.

You stumble slightly, your hand instinctively landing on her shoulder for balance and support.

Natasha freezes, her breath catching at the sudden proximity.

Neither of you move, the air between you charged with tension. The heat of your body pressed intimately against hers sends a jolt through her system, and for a split second, she forgets to breathe.

A low chuckle escapes you, the sound reverberating against her chest. You look up, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“You’re getting better,” you murmur, a teasing smile curving your lips. “This makes it four to one.”

Natasha blinks, still processing just how close you are.

“Four to one?” she echoes, her brow furrowing slightly.

“How many times I’ve successfully sneaked up on you,” you clarify, your smirk widening. “You’ve only caught me once now.”

Natasha huffs, a faint smirk of her own tugging at her lips.

“Two of those times, I was asleep,” she counters.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue playfully.

“That’s no excuse for the Black Widow,” you tease. “What would your fans think?”

Before Natasha realizes what she is doing, she finds herself leaning slightly closer to you.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice lower than usual, “you tell me.”

Your grin widens, clearly enjoying the usual banter between the two of you.

“I’m sure they’ll still be impressed by your other charming qualities,” you respond softly.

But beneath the amusement, there was a flicker of something else in your eyes—something deeper, almost as if you were daring her to close the distance between you.

Natasha’s pulse quickens, the warmth of your body drawing her in like a magnet, the faint glow of the city lights behind you only adding to the moment.

But just as quickly, she reminds herself of the situation. Of where you both stand.

She swallows, clearing her throat as she quickly releases your wrist and takes a step back, pushing away the feeling that had crept up on her.

“So,” Natasha begins, her voice slightly more controlled, “where’s our little friend?”

Before you can respond, something small and quick leaps onto Natasha’s back, clinging briefly before hopping onto her shoulder.

Startled for a moment, Natasha relaxes as she turns to see Widow perched there, letting out a happy meow in greeting.

Natasha chuckles softly, reaching up to scratch under Widow’s chin.

“There you are.”

You step around her, moving toward the ledge with a teasing glance.

“I’m pretty sure Widow’s score against you is much higher though,” you remark over your shoulder, brushing past her as you approach the edge of the rooftop.

Natasha’s eyes follow you, her attention drawn in once more, mesmerized as you gaze out over the cityscape, your features softened in the dim light.

That familiar warm feeling stirs within her as she takes in the sight of you.

Her focus is only broken when a soft paw taps at her cheek.

Natasha turns her gaze to the feline, who gives her an almost teasing meow before leaping gracefully from her shoulder to yours.

You smile fondly at the cat, gently stroking her fur before turning your focus back to the building across the street.

It’s an exclusive club—one of those high-end places with multiple floors reserved for private, discreet business dealings, both professional and personal, and most of the time, not law-abiding.

“What are we doing here?” Natasha asks, joining you by the ledge.

“This is where the control system for the device inside of Widow is being kept,” you explain, your tone shifting into something more serious.

“How do you know?”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow in return.

Natasha nods slightly in understanding.

“You already tried to steal it,” she guesses, her eyes scanning the building across from you both. “But something went wrong.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, a hint of amusement flashing in your eyes.

“The system can’t leave this location,” you explain, giving Widow a gentle scratch on the head before setting her down on the ledge. “And Widow has to stay close enough to maintain the connection, which means the bomb has to be deactivated on-site.”

Natasha hums in acknowledgment, her fingers resting lightly against the cool stone of the building as she considers the situation. Deactivating a bomb with specific limitations–that’s something she can definitely help you with.

After a moment of silence, you speak again.

“How’s your mission going?” you ask casually, glancing sideways at her.

Natasha shoots you a look, one that clearly conveys her wariness of sharing too much. You had interfered with her mission before, after all, and trust was still a fragile thing between the two of you.

“Let’s just focus on deactivating the bomb first,” she says, pivoting away from your question.

You smile knowingly, understanding and respecting her decision to keep things close to the chest.

“Fair enough.”

Standing beside Widow, you pull out a small pen-like device from your pocket.

Natasha watches curiously as you aim it at one of the windows across the street.

A thin red laser flickers from the pen, bouncing off the glass as you click it a few times.

Widow’s attention snaps to the laser instantly, her tail twitching in anticipation. She lets out a soft meow before, without hesitation, leaping gracefully from the ledge.

Natasha’s heart skipped a beat as she watched the cat jump, and she leaned over the edge, only to see the feline's agile body landing on a nearby balcony below before disappearing into the shadows.

“You sure she’ll be okay?” Natasha asks, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

You shoot her a playful glance.

“I told you—they always land on their feet.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Standing a bit straighter, she turns back to you.

“So, what’s next?”

“Now…” you trail off, stepping closer to her, brushing your fingers lightly against her shoulder.

Your smirk deepens as you lean in, the space between you narrowing again.

“Now we see if the Black Widow can keep up.”

Before Natasha can respond, you shoot a grappling line across the street, the device pulling you swiftly into the shadows of the opposing building’s alleyway.

Natasha’s heart races as she watches you disappear, your movements smooth and precise.

Without hesitation, she grabs her own grappling hook, launching herself into the air with practiced ease. As her feet hit the ground, adrenaline surges through her veins, heightening her senses.

She stays close behind, catching glimpses of you darting through alleyways, your figure slipping in and out of view.

Almost closing the distance, Natasha rounds a final corner, only to find herself alone, standing at the back entrance of the building.

She scans the area, brow furrowing when she doesn’t see any sign of you.

Stepping up to the back door, Natasha tugs at the handle—locked.

That means you didn’t go in this way, but discovering that doesn’t mean it’s not something she can’t use.

With a determined sigh, Natasha knocks loudly, stepping back as the door clicks open.

A confused guard peers out, and Natasha gives him a small wave.

"Hey," Natasha greets with a disarming smile.

Before the guard can react, she flips him over her shoulder with a quick, fluid motion, knocking him out cold. Catching the door before it closes, she slips inside.

Moving swiftly through the dark back room, Natasha reaches the main doors leading into the club’s crowded interior. She cracks the door open, scanning the room for any sign of you but finding none.

Wondering about your whereabouts, Natasha suddenly feels a light touch on her shoulder and turns her head quickly, startled to find you standing there with a teasing smile.

“That’s another point for me,” you say, your tone playful.

Natasha huffs in disbelief but can’t deny you’ve managed to sneak up on her yet again.

Before she can respond, you grab her hand and pull her into the chaotic crowd of the club.

“Come on, Widow’s probably already waiting for us,” you say over your shoulder.

The music is loud, bodies moving in rhythm all around you as you guide her toward the bar. You signal the bartender for drinks before leaning back casually against the counter.

Without missing a beat, you slide Natasha’s hand to rest on your waist, your arm casually wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Natasha’s breath catches, her body brushing against yours as her other hand rests on the bar counter for support.

The close proximity between you stirs something within her, her pulse quickening at the way your warmth seeps into her skin.

Leaning in, you make it look like you’re whispering something intimate, but your words are purely business, focused on the mission.

“The only way to the elevator for the exclusive floors is through that door,” you murmur, nodding toward a guarded entrance. “We’ll need a valid room key to get in.”

Natasha swallows, the sensation of your breath against her ear momentarily distracting her.

“You have one?” she asks, her voice slightly breathless.

"Not yet," you reply, leaning back, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "But I’ll have one in a second. How’s your acting?"

Before Natasha can respond, the bartender sets two drinks beside you.

Turning, you grab them quickly before spinning on your heel and colliding with a nearby patron.

The impact sends the drinks spilling all over the man’s expensive suit. He lets out a shout of surprise, his face contorting in outrage.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, your tone perfectly apologetic as you frantically pat his soaked jacket with a napkin.

The man scowls, waving off your apology and shoving you back roughly.

“This suit is worth more than your life!” he snaps angrily.

Before he can say anything else, Natasha steps in, her arm wrapping protectively around your waist as she pulls you against her.

Her gaze sharpens, daring the man to make a scene.

“It was an accident, and she already apologized,” Natasha says, her tone firm. “Now, I suggest you go clean yourself up before you say anything else you’ll regret.”

The man hesitates, his mouth opening as if to argue, but when his eyes meet Natasha’s steely glare, he rethinks his decision.

With a disgruntled huff, he storms off toward the restroom.

Turning in her arms, you flash her a playful grin.

"My hero," you tease, placing a dramatic hand on her shoulder.

Natasha rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

“The key card?” she prompts.

With a smirk, you hold up the card you deftly swiped from the man’s jacket.

“Got it.”

“Show-off,” Natasha mutters, though her voice is tinged with warmth.

With the key card in hand, you lead her toward the guarded entrance, your hand finding hers again.

The guards barely glance at you as you approach, their attention more focused on the crowd behind you.

With a quick swipe of the card, the door unlocks, and the two of you slip past the guards, making your way toward the private elevator.

Once inside, the doors close with a soft hiss, and the noise from the club fades into silence.

The enclosed space feels intimate, and Natasha is acutely aware of your proximity, your hand still lightly clasped around hers.

“So, what’s next after we finish this?” Natasha asks, her voice softer.

You lean casually against the wall, tilting your head at her with a teasing smile.

“Already thinking about the future? We haven’t even finished the mission yet.”

Natasha huffs a soft laugh, but there’s an underlying seriousness to her question.

“Will you leave the city?” she asks, her voice softening in understanding how that would be the safest option for the two of you once their leverage on you is gone.

Your playful demeanor falters slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression.

“I don’t know. Widow’s grown pretty fond of you,” you say before giving her a soft smile.

“She’ll miss you…” you swing your clasped hand lightly before adding in a whisper. “…and I might too."

Natasha’s heart skips a beat, her eyes locking with yours. The space between you seems smaller, the air around you charged with something unspoken.

Before either of you can say anything more, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival.

Natasha glances away, the moment interrupted as the doors slide open to reveal a sleek, quiet hallway.

You let go of her hand as you step out of the elevator with Natasha following soon after.

You find the door you need to enter at the end of the hall.

There is only one problem—a complex lock is in place, far more sophisticated than expected.

You kneel before it, pulling out a small set of tools from your jacket.

Natasha stands beside you, her eyes scanning the hallway as you start working on the lock.

You can feel her close, her presence like a shadow hovering protectively over you.

A few moments in, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches Natasha’s ears, her posture tensing.

She knows that just standing by the door is too suspicious, especially if someone spots them like this.

She’s about to warn you and prepare for a confrontation when, without missing a beat, you stand abruptly and grab Natasha by the arm, pulling her close.

Natasha’s eyes widen for a split second, but you’re quicker—your lips press against hers, soft and urgent.

It takes her only a heartbeat to respond, melting into the kiss, her hand sliding up to cup your neck, pulling you closer.

Your back bumps against the door as Natasha steps forward, closing any distance between your bodies. You gasp in surprise at the action, the soft and low sound escaping from you as Natasha deepens the kiss.

Her lips move against yours with a heat and intensity that catches both of you off guard while your fingers find and clench at her jacket, pulling her impossibly closer to you.

Natasha’s body molds perfectly against yours as the sound of the footsteps draws nearer.

Whoever was coming stops briefly at the end of the hall, but the sight of two people lost in a passionate embrace seems to deter them, and soon the footsteps retreat quickly.

As soon as the danger passes, you pull back slightly, your breath warm against her lips, your dilated eyes still locked with hers as a flush graces your cheeks.

Natasha feels a rush of heat in her chest at the sight and finds herself wanting to linger in the moment.

“Was that part of the plan?” Natasha whispers, her voice rough and breathless.

You smirk, your thumb brushing lightly against her waist.

“Improvised. But effective,” you tilt your head slightly, causing your nose to brush lightly against hers, your voice lowering. “I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had to pretend to kiss someone.”

Natasha smirks, though her voice is tinged with something more.

“Sure…pretend.”

For a moment, the two of you don’t move any further away from each other, the heat still remaining.

Natasha exhales softly as her eyes linger on you a moment longer, and she finds herself leaning in again, slow enough for you to move away if you want.

But you don’t.

Just as she’s about to close the distance again, a sharp click echoes through the hallway—the lock disengaging.

The sound pulls both of you back to the mission at hand, interrupting the moment, and the two of you hear a distinct familiar meow from behind the door.

Clearing your throat lightly, you give her a small smile before turning the door handle and stepping back to push the door open.

“After you,” you say softly, holding the door open for her.

Releasing a steadying breath, Natasha steps past you, her heart still racing from the kiss, but her focus returns to the task ahead.

Inside the room, the dim light casts shadows on the furniture.

Widow steps out from the darkness, meowing softly as she moves toward Natasha.

However, the cat stops in the space between the two of you and turns her sharp gaze from you to her curiously as if she senses the shift of the tension in the air.

Natasha scratches the cat’s head gently in greeting before glancing at you.

“Where’s the system?” she asks, her mind shifting back to the mission.

You move to the large desk, pressing a hidden panel. The surface slides open, revealing a sleek terminal.

“Right here. Couldn’t exactly carry this out the window,” you joke.

Natasha moves to the screen, her fingers quickly accessing the system.

Widow hops onto the desk, curiously observing Natasha before attempting to reach for the keys on the keyboard, but you pull her back before she can.

“No,” you reprimand gently.

The cat lets out a small, disgruntled cry, displeased at not being allowed to assist Natasha in her hacking.

Natasha’s lips quirk up fondly at the cat’s antics before returning to her task.

As she works, you stand nearby, watching her closely, your presence a comforting weight beside her.

For a moment, the mission fades, and Natasha finds herself thinking about your words in the elevator and what happened earlier, wondering if this—whatever this is—could be something more.

But there’s still so much she doesn’t know about you—of the things you’re still hiding.

Wanting to learn more, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice soft.

“What happened between you and them? To make them go this far?”

You lean against the desk, your teasing tone light.

“Trying to dig into my past, Miss Black Widow? Feels like something we’d discuss on a first date.”

Natasha smirks, her fingers still moving over the keys.

“This would definitely be one of the more interesting dates I’ve had.”

You chuckle, running a hand through Widow’s fur as she curls beside you.

Just when Natasha thinks you’re not going to tell her, you speak up.

“We worked together for years. Started off small—simple jobs, easy money. But then, things got darker. Shadier deals, dangerous clients.” Your voice lowers, growing more serious. “I didn’t know people were getting hurt. But when I found out…I couldn’t stay. So, Widow and I ran.”

Natasha nods, her heart softening at your story.

“And now they want you to pay for that.”

“Pretty much,” you say before hesitating slightly and deciding to add under your breath. “That and when I left, I stole almost all of their money at the time and gave it away anonymously to multiple charities across the world.”

Natasha pauses, her brows raising at you in disbelief.

You give her a serious nod in response, no signs of joking or teasing in your expression. Widow meows as if confirming your statement.

Natasha exhales an impressed huff, shaking her head slightly.

“That’s bold,” she states, her fingers moving deftly over the keyboard as she resumes her work. “But strangely, not surprising of you.”

You let out a light laugh, pushing off the edge of the desk where you’d been leaning. There’s a casual ease in your posture, but your gaze lingers on her as if considering something deeper.

“What about your past, Miss Black Widow?”

Natasha’s lip twists slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing her face before she looks up at you.

“Everything I’ve done was revealed to the public when SHIELD fell,” she says, her voice carrying a heavy note of resignation. “So, you know my past isn’t all that much better than yours. Neither am I.”

A quiet settles over the room, the only sound being the soft clicking of the keys as Natasha continues her work.

You watch her in that silence, your mind running over her words and the weight they carry.

Finally, you break the stillness, your tone thoughtful.

“I disagree.”

Natasha glances at you with an amused smirk on her lips.

“And what do you think you know about me?”

You meet her gaze steadily, the playful edge in your smile softening as you speak.

“I know you have trouble sleeping because you’re haunted by what you’ve done.”

Natasha freezes, her fingers going still as her eyes snap up to meet yours, surprise flickering in her gaze.

You hold that connection, offering a small, genuine smile as you continue.

“I know that’s why you spend your life dedicated to helping others. Why you keep trying to fix things, why you’re helping me and Widow.”

As if on cue, the cat meows from her perch on the desk, casting a curious look between the two of you. You chuckle lightly at Widow’s timing before turning back to Natasha.

“I know that you don’t judge people based on past mistakes, no matter how bad they were.”

There’s a pause, the air thick with the weight of the moment.

Your voice softens, and the sincerity in your words is palpable as you add, “And I know you’re a good person. You’ve already proven that to me. More than once.”

Natasha’s throat tightens, and she swallows lightly, clearly moved by your words though she tries to hide it.

Her gaze lingers on you a second longer, searching your expression for any trace of doubt or insincerity.

“Careful,” she finally says, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, her voice teasing but softer now. “You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You roll your eyes, though your chuckle is warm, the tension between you lightening for just a moment.

“I think I might see the appeal,” you tease back, flashing her a smile.

Natasha’s lips quirk upward, her eyes softening briefly before she returns her attention to the computer. Her fingers fly over the keys, a determined focus settling back over her as she works.

After a few more moments, she inhales sharply.

“I’ve got it,” she says, looking up at you with a triumphant glint in her eyes. “I can deactivate the device.”

You step closer, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the screen. The proximity makes the air between you feel charged, your breath warm against her neck.

"Great. Let’s finish this."

Natasha presses a few final keys, initiating the deactivation sequence.

Widow, who had been lounging nearby, suddenly stiffens and stands. The cat lets out a disgruntled meow, glaring at both of you with wide, accusing eyes before biting at the side of her body in irritation.

“So…it’s done?” you ask, your voice laced with relief but still tentative as you straighten and take a step back.

Natasha nods, glancing at the system.

“The bomb’s deactivated,” she confirms. “But we should still take her back to the Compound, just to make sure everything’s clear.”

Before Natasha can say more, a sudden alert flashes on the screen.

Furrowing her brows, she analyzes the information, her heart sinking as she realizes the deactivation triggered something else—another similar device has been activated.

Her fingers flies across the keys as she searches for more information.

The location of the system for this other device appears to be hidden somewhere else instead of here, so there nothing she can do to deactivate it.

But she does end up finding some details and specifications about the device.

Her eyes scan the screen before widening in alarm once she sees who the device is implanted in.

Your name is listed at the bottom of the screen.

Before she can react, Natasha feels a sharp prick on the side of her neck. She recoils away and turns around, her hand flying to the spot.

Her eyes meet yours in confusion before drifting to the tranquilizer in your hand.

You flinch guiltily at her accusing stare.

“That makes it six,” you say softly with a sad sigh.

Natasha frowns in realization as her body becomes almost instantly numb, and she stumbles back against the desk, trying to support herself up.

Widow runs toward her, meowing in concern, her paw raising to grip Natasha’s arm.

But Natasha doesn’t pay attention to the small creature, her focus entirely on you.

“Why?” Natasha grits out.

“I told you—one more job,” you say, your voice filled with remorse. “And I can’t have you interfering.”

You give her a regretful expression.

“Unfortunately, I do need to use you one last time.”

Natasha feels the last of her energy escaping as her legs collapse from under her, and she falls to the ground, her eyelids feeling heavier to keep open.

You crouch down beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that cuts deeper than any wound.

Widow hops down from the desk and lands in space between the two of you, her cries growing louder in panic as she looks between you and Natasha in confusion.

Natasha feels the soft paws pushing insistently against her as her vision darkens, her body going limp as the last of her strength fades.

Widow’s concerned cries grow distant as the world around her slips away. The last thing she hears before she loses consciousness is your voice, soft and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, there’s only darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27

[erens-heart]

levi ackerman 𑄽ᧉྀི

summary: you share your first kiss with the captain.

cw: canon universe, fem!bodied reader, sad reader comforting a sad levi, mentions of war and death, sloppy kissing turns into an angry makeout session, hair pulling, etc, mdni <3

levi ackerman had an apparent disregard for what everybody thought of him; he broke the rules. he had the mettle to make decisions others couldn’t - wouldn’t dare - that’s what made him the perfect captain. he was distant, some would say harsh, and didn’t care to waste his breath spouting nosense about hope.

it wasn’t necessary, he thought, you would all end up dying on him anyway.

despite this, during the little time levi had to himself, he would devise strategies to ensure that you came back alive from each reconnaissance. he would beg erwin to reconsider the formation, so that you could ride next to him on the next mission, where he could keep you safe, although your chances of making it back unscathed were not minimal.

“i don’t give a shit, just make sure she’s next to me. she isn’t as strong as the others.”

he’d bluffed, knowing that you were next in line for his throne, you were nearly as strong as him. to no avail, levi tried to convince himself that was your only value to the survey corps.

you had taught levi more than a few things about softness, and of how to be patient. in the strictest of confidence, he swore an oath to protect you, and would conquer however many titans necessary to fulfil it.

“captain?” you knocked on his door, politely interrupting his concentration.

“what?” he answered curtly, the weight of yesterday’s failed expedition still resting on his shoulders. he glanced up from an empty tea cup, blinking away his exhaustion, “it’s you. i see. what do you need?”

your intentions weren’t obvious, you were off-duty and had no official business in levi’s quarters. he guessed that you needed him for something else. you hesitated, realising that you hadn’t rehearsed any of this before knocking on levi’s door. he frowned at you in exchange.

“i came to see if you were okay?” you said shyly.

“what?” he practically snorted and got up, turning his body away from you so that you wouldn’t see the surprise on his face.

you’d learned to pity your captain. his short body always looked so sore, new scars would appear on his hands, and go unnoticed. you’d once offered to attend to a cut on his knuckles but he’d told you to, quote, “fuck off and mind your own business.”

however, this wasn’t pity that you felt, this was unchartered territory. you were visiting him out of hours, you were worried. you’d been outside the walls, fought titans, and made it back alive, but insinuating that you cared about levi felt, somewhat, scarier.

levi, your captain, of all people.

you took a step deeper into his room, swallowing thickly. you’d always guessed it would be peaceful in his quarters; his room was clean and organised, and he had a candle burning at his bed side. it’s soft light flickered across your face.

“captain. i think you should take a break-“ you paused, treading carefully around the subject of work, “come for a walk with me?”

“what?” he deadpanned, looking up at you in a vain attempt to read you.

you were smiling, but you smiled at everyone, he certainly wasn’t an exception. you were being kind to him but, again, you were kind to everyone, even the assholes.

secondly, he couldn’t deduce what gave you the sudden courage to knock on his door and invite him on a walk - in the middle of the night.

“captain?” you prompted with a keen sparkle in your eyes, unsure what to make of his response, or lack thereof.

“did you have somewhere in mind?” he sighed, finally giving in and putting his cup down.

“somewhere hidden. can be our secret.” you joked, catching him off-guard again.

levi clenched his jaw, painfully aware of the implications should he get caught alone with you. he wouldn’t lose his job, no, it’d be worse than that - he would be teased for the rest of his life!

“sure.” he eventually agreed after pretending to think about it. he took a cloak from his hanger for warmth and, beneath that, he wore a shirt and tight slacks to hide the bruises he’d earned in battle.

he brushed past you, leading the way out, his small shadow dancing on the walls. you could tell that he wasn’t relaxed, he couldn’t relax, and held a permanently stiff posture. could you blame him? all that death on his shoulders, all those lives on the line.

having pulled your hood up to stay hidden, your smile drooped and you looked down at your feet as you followed behind him, wondering what you could possibly say. what could possibly make things better? or change the fate of humanity?

“so. you invited me out for a walk, and now the cat’s got your tongue?” levi asked, breaking the heavy silence.

you dragged your hand mindlessly along the cobblestone walls, and hummed. “there’s isn’t much to say, honestly. just thought it’d do you some good to get out.”

levi chuckled ungenuinely - it was honestly ironic.

“i go outside all the time.” he spoke as he glared at the tunnel ahead. “it’s just unfortunate i have to spend all of that time butchering titans.”

you frowned with him, hugging your cloak to your body you as you emerged from the tunnel onto the training grounds.

it was completely dark outside, save for the two sconces either side of the doorway you were stood in, and the stars twinkling down at you from the heavens. you watched levi’s cold breath make clouds as he exhaled, scanning the field.

“you can relax.” you mumbled, watching him scour the trees for signs of life. it was like he’d developed a reflex for hunting titans, it was instinctual now. he felt the constant prickle of anxiety, you felt it too.

you were so transfixed on levi’s scowl and the determination in his expression, that you had little time to appreciate what beauty was left in your world: the frost, the birds, the wind.

you tugged on levi’s cape, stealing his attention. his hard expression softened.

“sorry. been hard to relax lately.” he admitted, kicking the gravel with his boot.

“you’re the strongest man i know, levi.” your voice cracked,

“i don’t mean physically. i don’t understand how you get up every morning and face the world, and those titans. if- if i were you- i would have given up years ago.” you began messily, clutching your fist against your racing heart.

levi sighed, and cradled your face with his strong hands, furrowing his eyebrows as he peered into you. his hands were freezing, it was a surprise to you that they weren’t numb.

“shut up.” he scolded gently, and looked down at your glistening lips. “i would have given up too, if not for you.”

he brought you closer, snaking one of his thick arms around your waist. levi didn’t care anymore. without a second thought, he surrendered, he couldn’t bear not having you for a second longer, he was but sand in the hourglass of time.

he used his other hand to guide your chin forwards. he pressed his lips softly to yours and your heart stopped, but you pecked him back.

he kissed you so gently, carefully cherishing the taste of you, as if it were his last night on earth.

you kissed him back, holding onto his collar, whilst he made guttural sounds that lit a fire within you. you could feel all of his rough scars tickling your skin as you moaned weakly into his mouth.

crazed, he grabbed your hair from underneath your hood, pulling you into his taut body, so hard that you crashed into him. your hood fell down, revealling tears that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. he wouldn’t dare, but levi felt like crying too.

you kissed his open mouth, licking his tongue sloppily, letting him lick yours too. the way he kissed you gave you butterflies, it was more than what you’d ever imagined. your heart ached, your body tingled, your feelings felt uncontainable.

you smiled at him, sticking your tongue out for him to taste. levi groaned darkly and licked it, again and again, before grabbing a fistful of the hair on the back of your head. he tied his fingers into your hair and gripped it hard before smashing his mouth back into yours again.

you felt so alive you were sure you were going to die.

you pulled back for air after a while. levi looked at you with starving eyes, and followed you backwards into the wall. you parted your legs to make room for his knee, which he pushed up into the space between your legs. he caged your head between his two hands on the wall, gritting his teeth against your ear,

“captain…” you croaked.

“don’t you die on me. ever.” he grunted, pressing his forehead tiredly to the side of your head, breathing raggedly.

“i won’t.”

[levandright]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — words of affirmationꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn! reader ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ comfort—so much comfort, established relationship, non-idol au ꕀ word count : 2,541 (the longest yet) ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : tysmmm to my lovely moots for giving me the inspiration for this by answering my lil survey <3 as usual my bsf proofread + edited and added to this (they should start their own blog istg- but then again they don't really write as a hobby... + they're busy so i think their blog would just collect dust T-T) i should really take notes cause they write so poetically...

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 - “ you are capable of so much more than you know.”

you’re sitting on your bed, feeling the weight of deadlines and responsibilities pressing down on you. the glow of your laptop screen feels harsh in the dim light, and you can’t shake the sense of being overwhelmed. just as you take a deep breath, there’s a soft knock at your door.

“heesung?” you call, grateful for his presence. he opens the door, his expression shifting from concern to warmth as he sees you.

“hey y/n, i brought some snacks,” he says, holding out a plate of your favorite treats. “but I can tell you need more than just food right now.”

you give a small smile, but it fades as you look back at your screen. “i just feel like everything is piling up. i don’t know how to handle it all.”

he sits down beside you, placing the snacks aside. “let me remind you of something,” he begins, his voice soft yet steady. “just like the moon must endure the night before it can shine, you too will find your light again. it’s okay to feel this way; it’s part of the journey.”

you look at him, captivated by his words. “but what if I can’t find my way?”

he gently takes your hand, his grip reassuring. “you are not lost; you are simply navigating through a storm. allow the winds to guide you, and trust that the sun will rise again. each challenge you face is like a note in a beautiful song—sometimes dissonant, but eventually leading to harmony.”

his poetic words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease. “you really know how to lift my mood, don’t you?”

he smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “i’m here to remind you that even the darkest nights will give way to dawn. let’s take a moment to breathe and celebrate your strength. you are capable of so much more than you know.”

with a newfound sense of hope, you nod. “thank you, heesung. i really needed to hear that.”

“anytime,” he replies, and together, you take a deep breath, allowing the weight to lift just a little more as you share in the comforting silence.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 - “you did your best, and that’s enough.”

it’s been a tough day—one of those days where no matter how hard you tried, nothing seemed to go right. frustration bubbles inside you, mixing with a sense of inadequacy you can’t seem to shake.

you hear a gentle knock at the door, and a moment later, jay steps inside. he takes one look at you and instantly understands; he’s seen that look before.

without a word, he crosses the room and sits beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. you look up, trying to manage a small smile, but it fades quickly. “i really tried, jay. but I feel like it wasn’t enough. nothing went the way i wanted it to.”

jay’s gaze is warm and understanding, his expression softening as he listens. he reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “hey,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “you did your best, and that’s enough.”

you blink, letting his words sink in, but a part of you protests. “but… what if my best wasn’t good enough?” he shakes his head, his hand still holding yours.

“your best isn’t measured by the outcome. it’s about the effort you put in, even when things get tough. you showed up, you tried, and that’s what really matters.”

a comforting silence settles between you as you take in his words. “i guess i just wanted everything to go perfectly.”

“i know,” he replies gently. “but perfection isn’t what makes you amazing. your determination, your resilience—that’s what i see, and that’s what matters to me.”

a small smile finally breaks through, and you feel a weight begin to lift. “thank you, jay. i needed to hear that.”

he smiles back, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’ll always be here to remind you.” then, with a soft touch, he pulls you into a warm hug, his embrace steady and reassuring.

and as you relax in his arms, you realize that maybe, just maybe, doing your best really is enough.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 - “even the stormiest skies eventually clear.”

you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at your phone, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of your worries.

when suddenly, the door creaks open, and jake steps in, shaking off the rain from outside and instantly brightening the room with his presence. “hey there sunshine,” he greets, noticing your downcast expression. “what’s got you looking so down?”

you sigh, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “just… everything. It’s been a rough few days.”

without hesitation, he plops down beside you, pulling you to his side. “i get it. life can feel like a heavy cloud sometimes, but remember, even the stormiest skies eventually clear.”

you lean against him, taking in his warmth. “it just feels endless right now.”

he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his voice steady and soothing. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here to help you carry the weight. let’s take it one step at a time. every storm has its purpose, and i believe you’re going to come out even stronger.”

a small smile breaks through your gloom as you look into his eyes. “thank you, jake. you always know how to make me feel better.”

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “of course. you light up the darkest nights. just remember, whenever you’re feeling low, I’m right here to remind you how incredible you are.”

feeling a sense of comfort wash over you, you snuggle closer, letting his reassuring words wrap around you like a warm blanket as rain continues to fall outside.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 - “you mean so much to me”

you’re standing in the snack aisle of your favorite grocery store, contemplating whether to go with your usual chips or try something new. sunghoon, who’s been scanning the shelves beside you, suddenly goes quiet. when you glance over, you catch him just… staring at you, a small, soft smile on his face.

“uh, did i miss something?” you ask, laughing a little as you grab a bag of chips.

sunghoon shakes his head, but his smile only grows wider. he takes a step closer, lowering his voice as if he’s about to share a secret. “you know you mean so much to me, right?”

you blink, surprised by the sudden confession. glancing around, you notice a few shoppers moving past, some casting curious looks your way. “sunghoon, we’re at the store…” you whisper, cheeks warming as you give him a playful nudge.

he chuckles, completely unfazed by the setting or the people around. “i know, but i just wanted to say it. i love you, and i don’t care where we are. i don’t want to miss a chance to remind you.”

your face softens, and you feel your heart flutter at his sincerity. “you’re so random sometimes, you know that?”

he grins, grabbing the bag of chips out of your hand to toss it into the cart. “maybe, but you love it,” he says with a playful wink.

you roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. “yeah, maybe i do.”

and as you continue down the aisle, you feel lighter, his words replaying in your mind. sunghoon may choose the most unexpected times to say how he feels, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 - “you are more than enough.”

the evening light filters through your window, but instead of its usual warmth, it only amplifies the feeling of heaviness in your chest. after a long day, you find yourself scrolling through social media, comparing yourself to the perfect smiles and flawless features of others. tears start to fall, blurring your vision as self-doubt creeps in.

suddenly, there’s a soft knock at your door, and before you can respond, sunoo enters. he immediately notices your tear-streaked face, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. “baby? what’s wrong?” he asks, quickly crossing the room to sit beside you.

you wipe your eyes, attempting a smile, but it falters. “i just… i feel like i’m not pretty enough for you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “you could find someone so much better.”

sunoo’s heart aches at your words. he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. “what? no way,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “you are more than enough. these thoughts don’t reflect who you truly are.”

“but everyone else seems perfect,” you reply, your voice breaking.

he shakes his head, squeezing your hand tighter. “perfection is a myth, and even if it were real, it wouldn’t matter. you are unique and beautiful in your own way. i see all the things that make you special, and they’re what drew me to you in the first place.”

a small, hopeful smile begins to form on your lips as you look into his eyes. “really?”

“absolutely,” he leans closer and continues, “i love you just the way you are, and i would never trade you for anyone else. you are perfect to me, and I’ll always be here to remind you of that, especially on days like this.”

feeling the warmth of his words seep into your heart, you nod, gratitude flooding through you. “thank you, sunoo. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “you’ll never have to find out. i’m here for you, always.”

as you settle into his warmth, the weight of your insecurities begins to lift. then, gently pulling back, sunoo cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “can i show you how much you mean to me?”

before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you softly, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. it’s a kiss filled with reassurance and love, reminding you that you are enough just as you are.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 - “you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters most.”

you sit at your desk, surrounded by textbooks and notes. you’ve been putting in long hours, determined to improve your grades and stay on top of your studies. but tonight, exhaustion starts creeping in, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of doubt about whether all this effort is worth it.

just then, jungwon knocks softly before entering your room, a bright smile lighting up his face. “hey, i brought you some snacks!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plate filled with your favorite treats.

you look up, trying to muster a smile. “thanks, jungwon. i really appreciate it, but I’m not sure i have time to eat right now.”

he puts the plate down beside you and leans against the desk, observing your scattered notes. “you’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you? i just wanted to check in on you.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “yeah, i’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m not making any progress.”

jungwon’s expression softens as he looks at you. “i see how hard you’re working every day, and i want you to know that it doesn’t go unnoticed. you’re putting in so much effort, and that’s something to be proud of.”

his words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re speechless. “you really think so?”

“absolutely,” he replies, his voice filled with sincerity. “you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters most. remember, progress isn’t always immediate, but every step you take is a step closer to your goals.”

feeling encouraged, you take a deep breath and nod. “thanks, jungwon. that means a lot coming from you.”

he smiles and pulls you into a gentle hug. “and don’t forget to take breaks, okay? you can’t pour from an empty cup.”

you laugh softly, feeling lighter already. “i’ll try my best.”

“good,” he says, stepping back and gesturing to the plate of snacks. “now, let’s take a break and enjoy these together. you deserve it.”

as you share the snacks and laughter, you feel a renewed sense of motivation. jungwon’s unwavering support reminds you that you’re not alone in your journey, and his encouragement makes all the difference.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 - “it’s okay to be tired.”

riki had been looking forward to spending the day with you, but as he watches you curled up on the couch, he notices something isn’t right. you are normally so full of life and energy, but today, you're dull. your spark is somewhat muted.

“y/n,” he whispers, sitting down beside you. “you okay? you seem a bit… off.”

you look up, forcing a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “yeah, i’m fine. Just a bit tired, i guess.”

riki stares at your face and notices how you turn your eyes away, attempting not to show fatigue. “you know, it’s okay to be tired. you don’t have to hide it from me. everyone has those days.”

you shrugged it off as if it were nothing. “i didn’t want to ruin our day.”

he shakes his head, worry creasing his eyes. “you could never ruin our time together. if you’re feeling overwhelmed, it’s totally normal. you don’t have to put on a brave face all the time.”

you take a deep breath and look away, feeling a sense of guilt creeping in. “i just didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“listen,” riki says gently, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “feeling tired and needing a break doesn’t make you weak. it just means you’re human. we all have our limits. i care about you, and it’s okay to share how you really feel.”

you meet his gaze, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. “i appreciate that, riki. i guess i just thought i should be able to handle it all.”

he smiles softly, his voice steady. “there’s strength in acknowledging when you need help. so, how about we take a break together? we can watch a movie and order your favorite takeout. no stress, just a cozy day.”

your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. “that sounds perfect.”

“great! i’ll grab my phone,” he says, jumping up with newfound energy. as he moves around the room, you feel a sense of comfort wash over you. riki has a way of making you feel understood, reminding you that it’s okay to let your guard down.

as the two of you settle in for a cozy afternoon, laughter and lightheartedness return, slowly chasing away the shadows of your worries. when he finally sits back down beside you, he leans closer, gently brushing a stray hair from your face.

“just remember, i’m always here for you,” he whispers, his eyes warm as the word spoken.

before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering as a wave of comfort washes over you. in that moment, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that with riki by your side, you can be your true self without fear.

perm taglist. @honeychocos @kozumesphone @manaah02 (open)

wyll taglist. @lilly-cherry7 (comment or ask to be added)

©levandright

[yourdearestlover]

Dearest, lovers

Hello Tumblr World! I am that creator who has been working on Nicola & Luke Press Documentary for the past few weeks.

To tell you the truth, those weeks have been quite exhausting. I had to combine my job and private life to be able to work on, as how my followers had called it, N&L Press Doc. BUT! Enough about me, let's talk about the project.

For the whole plan to make sense, I had to collect material; starting from London and ending it on Ireland, that included over seventeen Google Doc pages of interviews from various social media platforms. In the meantime, I was posting surveys on X regarding certain details, because I wanted people to have a chance to choose. The most time-consuming task was searching for a good quality videos and photos, downloading needed files, neatening them into correct order, to then montaging into 4 parts. Several interviews were edited by me, splitted, resized, which only made the steps to finish line take longer than I had initially expected. Entire process from making decision to actually starting "new project", to rendering each part took about a month. With that being said, I was happy to finally announce the release date.

So here they are! PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

From here, I'd like to say BIG thank you for those who were with me the entire time, for those who helped me out with gathering the materials on X / TikTok, for those close to my heart that cheered me up, when things weren't going my way. And most importantly, but not least, thank you for each comment, each like and each viewing. I've spend days on this project, I've put my heart into it. And I'd love you guys to enjoy it, as much as I did, while making it.

I'd want to clarify one more thing. This documentary was put together to express my love towards both Nicola and Luke, to be able to give the fandom a space to reminisce the tour, to fill up the small puzzle of missing them. Absolutely NO negativity will be allowed. Yours truly,

Em <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi baby!! dont worry!! it was about reader getting so stressed and annoyed while building a gingerbread house that they throw it in the garbage because its going all wrong and carmy finds it hilarious lol then he builds one for her hehe<3 love u

Perfectionist.

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks - especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

pairing - carmen berzatto x female reader warnings - cursing word count - under 1k!! short and sweet author's note - just a little dose of carmy at christmas for you. thanks baby angel for sending this request in (twice!!) <3

masterlist. inbox.

"Fuck this."

Carmy hears your raised voice and immediately comes running, coming to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen.

"You good, baby?"

"No."

The frown on your face is amusing him to no end, fighting to keep his smile from breaking out. He doesn't want to minimise your feelings, but you're cutest when you're mad.

Carmy takes in the scene in front of him, surveying carefully. There's chunks of gingerbread scattered across the table, icing dripping from the tablecloth. Your kitchen looks like a candy store exploded - sweets in red, green and blue littered over every surface. You're caked in frosting, hair falling into your eyes as you take deep breaths to try to keep your anger at bay.

"I knew this wouldn't be easy, but fuck me, Carmy... I'm on the brink of a breakdown here."

He makes his way over, grinning like an idiot. It's not often he gets to help you with things - you're fiercely independent, determined to get stuff done all by yourself. He likes teaching you, getting to feel like he's easing your worries a little.

"You want my help?"

"I said I'd do it," you huff, on the verge of stamping your feet and pushing the table over.

"It won't kill you to ask for what you need, baby."

You roll your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. It's difficult for you to admit defeat, but you might rip your hair out if your gingerbread collapses one more time.

"Can you help me, Carm?" you whisper.

"What was that, honey? Say it again?"

You sigh in exasperation, slumping back into your chair.

"Can you help me, Carmen? Please?"

He beams at you like the cat that got the cream, making his way over to sit next to you at the table.

"Lets start again, hmm?"

"Good idea."

You pick up the remnants of your gingerbread house and throw them so forcefully, the trash can almost tips over. Carmy laughs, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

"I think we've finally found the one thing you're not good at, honey. It's a Christmas miracle."

You can't help but chuckle, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. He presses a kiss or four into your neck, nosing at the spot under your ear.

"Okay, Mr Michelin Star. Show me what you got."

You bake, first, Carmy explaining how to get the perfect texture you need for structural soundness. He even gets out a ruler, measuring the rolled out dough so the sides will be even.

He kisses you lazily while your gingerbread is in the oven. You're propped up on the counter as he stands between your legs, arms thrown around his shoulders. He tastes like cinnamon and spice, groaning when you lick the sugar straight from his tongue.

When it's cooled, you begin your assembly, sitting back while Carmy trims and remeasures. He draws out a template with a pencil and cuts accordingly, ensuring each piece has a straight edge. You watch in awe as he works, so careful, so attentive. You're fighting not to jump his bones at any given moment.

It's time to build, and Carmy has the perfect plan. He's made a thickened sugar syrup that acts as a glue, hardening when it dries and keeping everything together. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he concentrates, determined not to mess this up for you.

He steps back, then, to let you decorate. You clearly have a vision, your picturesque idea of what you wanted your original creation to look like. Carmy makes you multiple bags of icing in different colours, and melts down candies so you can make windows and doors. He opens packets of chocolates, and carves into them with a knife to make little trees for the yard.

Hours later, when you're both covered in powdered sugar and melted chocolate, you step back to admire your masterpiece.

"Holy shit, Carm."

"We did good, huh?"

"Is there like, a business in this? Can we do this for a living?"

He laughs, the sound vibrating through you from where his chest his pressed to your back. He's got you tightly in his arms, swaying gently to the soft music that plays from the radio.

"What were you saying about finding the one thing I wasn't good at, Berzatto? Hmm?"

He spins you, pressing his forehead into yours.

"I take it back. I take it all back, baby. You're good at everything."

"Especially gingerbread houses."

"Especially gingerbread houses."

You lean up to kiss him, wiping some frosting off his cheek with your thumb.

"Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot."

"I would never. Life is a learning curve, baby, You taught me that."

"I love you," you whisper. "And just so you know, we're never eating that. It's going to have to be display only."

He laughs, full chested and whole hearted, moving his hands to cradle your face.

"I love you too, baker extraordinaire. We don't need to eat it, anyway. We've got all this candy to get through."

You reach behind him to pick up a chocolate, tossing it into your mouth.

"It isn't as sweet as you," you wink.

A blush rises up his cheeks as he rolls his eyes, pulling you in closer.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

"Merry Christmas, Carmen."

[pomefioredove]

"Don't bite your lip, I want to do that" With Vil please 🥺👉👈

bravely writing something a little flirtier than usual... (as if this line hasn't been requested 3 times for that exact reason lol)

summary: "don't bite your lip, I want to do that" type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, good lort. a part of this event

"Are you nervous?"

The question is innocent enough, though you detect something subtly teasing hidden behind it.

His expression itself is neutral; you can tell by the glimmer in his eye.

"Is it that obvious?" it's a rhetorical question. Vil is able to read you like the back of his hand.

He smiles. "You look like you're about to make a run for it. Relax. It's just a presentation, you've done them before,"

You sink in your seat, clearly disagreeing. He tsks, and you immediately correct your posture.

He really keeps you on a short leash...

"This one is different," you insist. "This is a group magic project, keyword magic. I've already failed a third of it!"

Vil rolls his eyes at your dramatics, though his tone remains soft. His patience always seems endless when it comes to you.

"And you don't trust Grim to perform on your behalf?"

You stare back. Now that's a rhetorical question...

"Very well," he says, barely able to hold back a smile. "Let's try this again, I'll be nicer this time. Don't forget to project."

You're not even sure how you can project when you're basically right next to each other. You think he just likes saying it.

Nonetheless, you sigh. "Fine... I'll start here. This is our project on-"

"Don't sound so uptight," he cuts in, standing and walking around you in a circle. "And sit up straight. You want to engage your audience, not close them out."

You begrudgingly does as he says. You know he's right, but he doesn't have to be so smug about it...

"Better?"

"Shoulders back," he says, grabbing your shoulders and straightening them out, adjusting you like a doll.

Once he's satisfied, Vil comes around in front of you again and sighs. "Well, it's a start. Go on, from the beginning,"

"Okay. This is our project-"

"You're not going to introduce yourself?"

You glare, and he chuckles, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. "My apologies. I didn't realize this was an avant-garde presentation. Go on,"

Another sigh. "Fine. I'll be presenting, while Ace and Deuce cover the demonstration portion of the project. We-"

"More confidence," he hums, putting a hand under your chin and tilting your head up. "Remember to engage. Speak to your audience directly."

You mean to scold him for distracting you, but can only manage a mumble. He's putting a spotlight on you, and you hate it.

Maintaining eye contact is impossible. The amused expression on his face as you try to concentrate is starting to make you feel even more anxious than before.

"...We tested a few... different..." you trail off, nervously biting the corner of your lip. "Methods... and..."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his thumb moving up from your chin to your lower lip, running across it.

"Don't bite your lip," he chides. "I want to do that."

A shock of adrenaline makes you go numb, your notes spilling out of your hands and all over the bedroom floor.

Vil sighs, as if exasperated, and takes a step back to survey the sorry sight. "Tsk. You really are hopeless. How can you expect to present if you can't handle a little distraction?"

After a moment of watching you scramble to collect the papers, he leans down to help, his smirking face dangerously close to yours.

"No matter. We have plenty of time to practice,"

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 3

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary:  You go back to school and you try and make yourself useful

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, misogyny 

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

PART 3

“30 days has September, April, June and November…”

You had set yourself the task today to make yourself a calendar.  Maths had never been your strongest subject in school, but you were excellent at remembering, so you knew the month song off by heart and were mumbling it to yourself as you began digging into your desk draw to retrieve some art supplies.

The decision to make the calendar had hit you last night when you were reading one of your new library books before bed and the return receipt slipped out of the back cover and onto your lap.  Normally, it was the very first thing you retrieved when you got home from the library, making sure to mark the return dates down on your big white board calendar on the fridge.  But you were still getting used an entirely new routine in your new house and you’d completely forgot to look for the slip.

Now that you had it though, you had to make sure you noted down the dates somewhere you could easily see them.  So, with a few pieces of paper, a ruler and some markers, you drew up a calendar for the next few months.  By checking the borrow date on the receipt and counting how many days it had been since your library visit, you managed to figure out what todays date was.  From there, and with the help of that handy month song, you’d managed to fill in the rest of the dates.   

When it was all completed you stepped back to examine your work.  If you were honest with yourself, your lines could have been drawn straighter and your handwriting could have been much, much neater.  But you didn’t have the energy to redo it, so it would have to do.  For now. 

You surveyed your room for someone to put it.  In your old house your calendar was on the fridge, out in the open for everyone to see and help you keep track of.  Here, it needed to be hidden from your Aunties, so that it was your responsibility, and your responsibility alone, to make sure you were staying on top of everything.

Everything.

A wave of guilt crashed over you as you remembered all the other things you would keep track of on your calendar.  Now that you were a big girl, you had been helping around the house and you had chores.  You would set the table and help take the cups and plates and spoons out of the dish washer (only Mummy and Daddy could touch the knives).  You would also check for mail every morning and there was a pretty purple watering can you got use to water the flowers in the front garden a couple of times a week.

But you didn’t do any of that here at your Aunties house.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Part of you worried that your Aunties didn’t trust you enough to ask you to help out around the house.  Perhaps they thought you weren’t smart enough or strong enough or big enough to lend a hand.  Or maybe they were secretly mad that you hadn’t insisted on helping and were keeping a top-secret list of all the times you didn’t help out and they would present it to you on a big, long scroll on the day they kicked you out their house.

You shuddered at the thought of that.  That was a day you thought about often.  You didn’t know how many days or weeks or months it was until the baby was here, but surely your time here at your Aunties house was running out.  You needed to do everything in your power to be good until then so that they didn’t kick you out any sooner.  

That night before tea, you made sure to wash your hands extra good before heading into the kitchen where your Aunty Lessi was cooking.  

“Aunty Lessi, could I set the table?”

“Oh sure!  If you’d like.  Just give me a moment and I’ll show you where everything is.”

You grinned in silent satisfaction, glad that it seemed like your Aunty wasn’t outright opposed to you proving your worth.  After your Aunty Lessi finished with whatever she was stirring on the stove, she led you over to various cupboards and drawers and pointed out where the placemats, plates and cutlery lived.  Whilst there were a few plastic cups in the same cupboard as the plates for you to use, the glasses your Aunties drank out of were on a higher shelf that were too high for you to reach.

“Don’t worry about those, I can grab them” she insisted.

“I could get a chair or something to stand on?”

“Don’t be silly, Bun Bun.  I’ll get them.  Thank you for getting everything else though.”

Silly. Silly. Silly.

Once you were all sat down for dinner, you watched your Aunty Lessi spin spaghetti around her fork before you took a deep breath in and began.

“Did I do okay at setting the table?”

“You did a great job, Bunny!” Your Aunty Leah was smiling big and bright at you.  She had a bit of sauce on her chin, but you thought it would be rude to tell her.

“Do you think I could do it every night?” you asked.

“Uhh… I mean, if you want to, sure.”

Victory.  One chore to add to the calendar.

“What about the post?  Can I be in charge of checking that too? Does it come in the mornings?”

You observed as your Aunties caught eyes with each other across the table, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Umm, yes I suppose you could do that if you like,” Aunty Lessi nodded.

“Great!  And I can help empty the dishwasher.  No knives of course, but I can do spoons and plates and bowls and cups and stuff.  And maybe I can water some of your flowers, or all of them?  Or I can learn how to do other stuff too.  Like I could figure out how to do the laundry or clean the bathrooms or anything you want really…”

You hadn’t really realised, but you had pulled your knees up to your chest as your rant had gone on.  Your head was now resting on top of them as you looked eagerly between your Aunties, waiting for their response.  They were doing the silent conversation thing again.

“You don’t need to do all those things sweetheart.  We appreciate you offering, but maybe we’ll wait until you’re a bit older to do things like the laundry and stuff, yeah?” your Aunty Lessi responded.

You felt your stomach drop.  Your Aunty Lessi’s voice was kind, but you knew what her words meant.  They didn’t think you were big enough to help.

“How about we start off with setting the table for tea and checking the mail?  You’re still just settling in here, so we don’t wanna overload you with too much stuff to remember to do.”

--

It may have been bright and sunny outside, but today was a day you had been absolutely dreading.  You had decided to hang your calendar on the back of your bedroom door so that nobody but you would see it, and you had made sure to mark this day with a bright red circle and big a sad face.  Today was the day you were going back to school. 

You weren’t sure how it was decided or who decided, but you’d had a couple of weeks away from school after the fire and now it was time to go back.

You had only been back at school for 3 weeks of the new school year before the fire happened, so your parents had only just bought you brand-new dresses and shoes to replace the previous ones you’d outgrown.  Your pencil case had been filled with fresh crayons and sharp pencils, and you’d only just put a really cool new bunny sticker that your Uncle Gio had given you on your lunchbox.  But now, you had to start all over again.

So today, as you sat in front office with your Aunties, you were wearing a brand-new school dress and shoes and socks and Aunty Lessi had done your hair in a pretty braid with some pretty ribbons.  You also had a brand-new backpack and lunch box and pencil case, and you even had a brand-new iPad in a shiny purple case. 

In theory, you were all set to go.

But just under the surface, just beneath the layer of hairspray and the stiff gingham fabric, you were absolutely dreading heading back to the big noisy classroom and scary, sticky playgrounds.

You didn’t have heaps of friends at school like most of the other kids seemed to have.  You did have one good friend though.  Nora.  She also really liked to read and was super into comic books and superheros.  You didn’t really understand why she liked them, but you were more than happy to listen to her when she wanted to tell you all about them.  You would then tell her some cool bunny facts in return. 

This year the school librarian, Mr Webster, had let you both work on a big jigsaw puzzle every lunchtime.  He kept it safe and flat on a special piece of wood that he hid on top of his bookshelf in his office when you weren’t working on it.  It was a really, really big puzzle with loads more pieces than any other puzzle either of you had ever done before.  You were both determined to finish it before Christmas, but you weren’t sure if Nora had kept going while you were away.  You hoped she had but you also secretly hoped there was still some pieces left for you to do.  

Unlike previous years, Nora wasn’t in your class this year.  You were in Mrs Green’s class, and she was in Miss Roberts’ class.  You’d both written a letter to each teacher requesting to be swapped into each other’s class, but it hadn’t worked.  You were stuck alone in the classes you were in, and honestly, you were miserable. 

You see, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any other friends, that didn’t bother you much at all.  It was the fact that a bunch of the other kids seemed to actively dislike you.  In fact, the thing they seemed to like most in the whole world was picking on you.  They called you names and pulled on your hair and threw things at you.  You couldn’r really pinpoint exactly when it all started, but your first and most vivid memory was when Mitchell Timms had snatched your copy of The Worst Witch out of your hands one lunch time.  He threw it in a muddy puddle and stomped on it until all the pages were torn and the words had jumbled together.  When you ran over to try and save the book, a gift you’d received on your latest birthday, Mitchell just laughed at you and called you a “loser weirdo”. 

For the first 3 weeks of school this year, you had been sat next to a boy named Ollie and it had been awful.  He kept bumping your arm on purpose while you were trying to write and had laughed whenever you got frustrated that you had to erase and redo your mistakes.  One time he had even pulled your chair out from underneath you when you went to sit down, leading you to land on your bottom on the floor with a thud.  The whole class had pointed and laughed at you.  You had run out of the classroom and hid under a bench to try and calm yourself down.

When the teacher came to find you, you were curled in a ball, rubbing your Pocket Arthur softly against your cheek.  Pocket Arthur was your school buddy.  When you’d moved up from Reception into Primary School, your parents had bought you a miniature version of Arthur that you could keep tucked away in your pocket.  They said that now that you were going to big school, Arthur could no longer come along with you, but they wanted to make sure you still had a little buddy to always keep you company.  So, he was your Pocket Arthur, or Pockie for short. 

But he died in the fire too.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

So, on the night before you went back to school, you’d searched through your room, trying to find something to fill the big empty space left by Pockie when he died – the pocket of your school dress.  You tried crumpling up a wad of tissues, but the texture of it was all wrong.  Next you tried a balled-up pair of socks, but it felt scratchy when you tried rubbing it against your cheek.  You looked over the stuffies your Aunties had bought you, but they were all far too big to fit in your pocket.    

One of the stuffies caught your eye however as your dug through the little pile of toys.  It was on the bottom of pile, and you hadn’t seen it since you moved here.  It was a lovely and soft grey kangaroo, with pointy ears and a long tail.  You rather liked kangaroos, because while they were a completely different species to bunnies and could only be found in the wild in Australia, they kind of reminded you of really big rabbits.  As you pressed the soft fur to your cheek, something small fell in your lap.  Picking it up, you realised it was a baby kangaroo.  It must have fallen from the big kangaroo’s pouch.  It was perfect.  The perfect size, the perfect feel, the perfect squish.  You rubbed it against your cheek.  Bliss.  Holding it gently in your little hands, you squinted your eyes and ran your thumbs across the soft fur trying to figure out the perfect name for your new pocket pal.  Bailey.  She seemed like a Bailey.

And it was Bailey who you clung to, you hand shoved deep in your pocket, when the Headteacher Mrs Brinley called you all into her office.

You watched as both your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah shook hands with Mrs Brinley and then you all sat down on big uncomfortable chairs across the table from her.  You’d never been in her office before, so you took a moment to look around, noticing a bunch of certificates in big frames on the wall, a huge bookcase full of books and some photos of who you assumed were her family.

“Well, while we were very, very sad to hear about what has happened, we are glad that Y/K is back at school with us.  Hopefully being back in class will help her with getting back to her regular routine and schedule and assist her in feeling more settled.”

Her voice wasn’t unkind, but everything she said always sounded like she’d been rehearsing for it like it was a speech she had to give in front of the whole school.

“We have both of your phone numbers, as well as the number for your workplace, and we will call you should there be any issues.  But I’m sure Y/K will do just fine.”

Your Aunty Leah gently squeezed your hand that wasn’t firmly stuffed in your pocket, clinging onto Bailey for dear life.

“Mrs Green is going to meet you just back out in the front office and she will walk you up to class.  So, unless anyone has any questions, I’ll let you all get to it.”

You all shuffled back out the front office, where your teacher was waiting for you.  Aunty Lessi knelt down and gave you a big cuddle.

“Okay Bunny. You have fun on your first day back, alright?  And if anything goes wrong, or you don’t feel good or you feel sad… you just let your teacher know to call us okay.”

Aunty Leah leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead and stroked your cheek.  “You’ve got everything you need in your backpack, so you’re all set to go.  You’ve got this.”

“Okay.”

“We love you.”

The walk to your classroom was mostly filled with your teacher telling you about all the things you’d missed while you’d been away from school.  A little bubble of dread was beginning to build in your stomach as you realised all the work you now had to catch up on.  But by lunchtime that bubble had been replaced by a boulder.

Holding your lunch box and book tight to your chest, you looked around the hall for a spare seat.  Normally, you and Nora would sit together to eat your lunch and then go to the library, but to make a bad day even worse Nora was away from school today.  You had spent a solid 5 minutes looking for her, but according to a student in her class she’d had to stay home because she a nasty tummy bug.

The hall was quickly filling up as students grabbed their hot meals or lunch boxes and sat down at their chosen tables.  It quickly became apparent that the only spot left was one on the end of a table filled with some of the children who didn’t like you.  You’d spent so long looking for Nora, you’d been left with no other option.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

With a deep breath, you headed over to the table.  You sat quietly in the seat, hoping you would go unnoticed.

You didn’t.

“Why you sitting with us, Y/K?  Isn’t there anyone else you can sit with?” Jessica asked as you unzipped your lunch box.  You just shook your head in response.  A chorus of grumbles followed from the rest of the kids sitting at the table.

“Eww yuck, why does she have to sit with us?”  

“Where’s her weirdo friend?”

“Maybe she can sit on the floor instead.”

You just tried to tune them out, grabbing a sandwich out of your lunch box to munch on.  Your first bite was interrupted when the boy sitting beside you, Max, nudged you.

“Hey, were those your new Mums who brought you into school today?”

You hastily swallowed your sandwich, wanting to explain. “They’re my-” It was no use.  The group quickly began announcing their thoughts on the matter before you had a chance to correct them.

“Two Mums?  How can someone have TWO Mums?  That’s not right.”

“Yeah, my Dad says that it’s disgusting when two boys or two girls are married or kiss and stuff!”

“Oh yeah, like, have you ever saw two lads kiss? It’s weird!”

“I saw two ladies kissing when my Pop took me to the football last week.  He said they were going straight to hell!”

“As if she wasn’t weird enough, now she’s got two Mums too!”

Something inside you snapped, and you found yourself with your fists clenched and your cheeks red, Bailey long forgotten in your pocket.

“Yeah, well, they’re not my Mums, they’re my Aunties.  And they’re really nice and really clever and super cool.  And they play football for England, and and for the red and white club with the cannon!  And my Aunty Leah is the captain and everything! So that’s cooler than any of your families, ever!”

There was a short silence before they all started laughing.

“Girl’s football!  That doesn’t count!”

“That’s not real football!”

“Arsenal!  Pfffft.”

“I can’t wait to tell my Dad about this.”

“One of them looked pregnant when I saw them outside the office.  There’s no way they let her play like that!”

“That’s why they shouldn’t let girls play!”

“Wait, how is she having a baby if there’s no Daddy to put the baby in her?”

Whilst the rest of the comments had begun to muddle together and fade into the background as you tuned them all out, this last one pierced through.  Your head shot back in the direction of Jessica, the girl who had asked the question.  She was looking straight at you with her eyes squinted, twirling a strand of her hair around her pointer finger.

You hadn’t ever stopped to think about this.  To be honest you’d never really been interested in where babies came from.  You knew that whilst it varied from breed to breed, bunnies were pregnant for an average of 31 days and had litters of babies.  You also knew that humans usually only had one baby at a time and they were pregnant for around 9 months.  But you didn’t know how either bunnies or humans became pregnant.  Honestly, you were stumped.

“Guess you didn’t learn that in any of your stupid books, huh? Loser.”

[eiraeths]

ear’s guide to writing stab wounds

disclaimer!!!: this isn’t to be used as actual medical advice there isn’t enough information at hand to properly treat someone, this is just for writing.

hemostatic (blood clotting) control is the number one priority. minor bleeding can be controlled with direct pressure to the wound. moderate bleeding may require a compression bandage as well as direct pressure. severe penetrating wounds or a nicked artery means wound packing will be necessary as well as direct pressure.

types of stab wounds:

- blunt stab wound means whatever object caused the trauma wasn’t sharp or wasn’t moving fast enough so the skin tears.

- penetrating stab wounds go deep into the skin and into the muscle.

- superficial stab wounds don’t go too far under the skin and look worse than they actually are.

steps to treatment:

1. if the object is still inside the person’s body do not remove it unless it’s to the groin, neck, or axillae (armpit) and the bleeding is hard to control.

2. remove person’s clothes to check for any other wounds and keep the area clear.

3. keep an eye on blood pressure and airway.

4. the wound type and location changes how the rest of treatment will follow.

location:

head: direct pressure is mainstay. head wounds also bleed more than any other part of the body. has the highest mortality rate.

face: severe wounds to the face means the patient has to be seated forward to keep blood out of the airway.

neck: direct pressure is mainstay. if the airway can be secured and is absolutely necessary, wound packing can be applied.

arms: depending on the severity, any of the three treatments can be used.

legs: depending on the severity, any of the three treatments can be used.

abdomen: damage to organs is highly likely. direct pressure should be applied first while surveying if the object was long enough to damage an organ. if so, wound packing may be necessary.

chest: if the wound is deep enough it can cause open pneumothorax (‘sucking’ chest wound) a seal needs to be placed over the wound to keep air from getting inside. if this isn’t done in time the affected lung will collapse.

back: can typically be treated with only direct pressure. wound packing is rarely necessary.

neck, chest, abdomen, and pelvis wounds should never be packed unless absolutely necessary.

treatment types:

direct pressure: key to any wound. can be done with whatever is available even if that means the medic needs to use their own body weight.

tourniquets: applied to the limbs. typically not applied for more than thirty minutes. in some cases, they can be left on for hours, keeping the phrase “life over limb” in mind. complications with tourniquets like nerve damage or ischemia (no blood circulation) are rare. don’t apply over a joint and apply above the wound.

wound packing: done with standard gauze and or hemostatic dressing

wound packing steps:

1. control the bleeding with pressure. use anything available even if it means t shirts or a knee.

2. place a gloved finger inside the wound too apply initial pressure. this will hurt like a bitch. also gives you an idea of what direction the blood is coming from so gauze can be used more accurately.

3. begin packing the wound with gauze. keep pressure on the wound with finger while wrapping gauze around another finger and pushing it in the wound.

4. keep packing the wound until no more gauze can fit in, and then keep direct pressure on for at least three minutes.

5. after the three minutes, use something like a bandage wrap to keep the gauze secure inside the wound.

6. splinting the area to keep it immobilized may be vital to keep the hemorrhage from restarting

7. if bleeding continues medic has to decide if they need to take out gauze and reapply with new gauze or apply more direct pressure. this is usually done by how long it takes to get to further treatment. the longer the wait the more of an incentive it becomes to repack the wound. if it’s just down the road then apply pressure.

most likely complications:

hypoxia, shock, and hypothermia are complications that need to be watched for and treated immediately if they occur.

hypoxia:

occurs when a region of the body doesn’t have enough oxygen in the tissue. can lead to organ damage, brain and heart damage being the most dangerous.

symptoms include: tachycardia (rapid heart rate), difficulty breathing, confusion, shortness of breath, anxiety, headache, and restlessness.

severe symptoms include: bradycardia (slow heart rate), extreme restlessness, and cyanosis (blue or purple tint to skin).

treatment: oxygen

shock:

life threatening condition where the body doesn’t have enough blood volume to circulate through itself. if it goes on for long enough, organ damage and death may occur.

symptoms: rapid, slow, or absent pulse, heart palpitations, rapid shallow breathing, lightheadedness, cold clammy skin, dilated pupils, chest pain, nausea, unfocused eyes, confusion, anxiety, and loss of consciousness.

treatment: if they’re not breathing, cpr is required. if they are breathing, lay on back and raise feet a foot off the ground to keep blood in the vital organs.

blood transfusion and fluids once in a hospital setting.

hypothermia: occurs when the body is losing heat quicker than it can produce. the more blood that’s lost the more likely hypothermia is to occur.

symptoms: differ based on severity

hypothermia:

in mild hypothermia: shivering, exhaustion, clumsiness, sleepiness, weak pulse, tachycardia (rapid heart rate), tachypnea (rapid breathing), pale skin, confusion, and trouble speaking.

in moderate hypothermia: bradycardia (slow heart rate), bradypnea (slow breathing), slurred speech, decline in mental function, shivering slows down, hallucinations, cyanosis (blue or purple tint to skin), muscle stiffness, dilated pupils, irregular heart rate, hypotension (decreased blood pressure), and loss of consciousness.

in severe hypothermia: shivering stops, hypotension (low blood pressure), absence of reflexes, compete muscle stiffness, fluid builds up in lungs, loss of voluntary motion, cardiac arrest (heart stops beating), coma, and death.

treatment: covering with a blanket, hat, and jacket, adding external heat like a hot pack, and if severe and in a hospital setting, warm fluids via iv, warm oxygen, and or a machine to warm the blood in the body.

if you have any questions feel free to ask! i plan on making a guide to gunshot wounds and a more in depth guide to hypothermia later.

[v6quewrlds]

LOVE DROUGHT, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x oc [chelsea brooks]. word count⠀⁎⠀26k.

summary⠀⁎⠀chelsea's life appears perfect. a beautiful home, a great job, and a valuable last name. leaving behind her life in atlanta to come to cincinnati presents new opportunities and new challenges in her marriage. the biggest challenge comes in the form of the handsome neighbor next door, every married inch of him.

author's note⠀⁎⠀don't do this ???? lmao. should really be named "joe and chelsea have an affair", happy ending! we love happy endings. i might have a part two in me, we'll see. takes place over a year give or take. this takes place in an alternate universe where joe never transferred to lsu/didn't go to the nfl, joe's "backstory" is entirely made up lmao, joe is 36, chelsea is 34, longest thing i've ever written in my life lol sorry? warnings⠀⁎⠀don't like it? don't read it <3 don't let your husband stop you from meeting your soulmate <3, infidelity, literally everyone in this story has questionable behaviors, several mentions of masturbation, mirror sex, infidelity as dirty talk?, booty calls.

Chelsea Brooks stepped out of her sleek black Mercedes, her Nike sneakers crunching the autumn leaves against the concrete driveway. She took a deep breath of the crisp, Cincinnati air, feeling the chilly breeze caress her cheeks. The house she and her husband, Terrence, had just bought was a beautiful monstrosity of stone and glass, a stark contrast to the warm, cozy homes of her Atlanta roots. She surveyed the quiet neighborhood, noting the perfectly manicured lawns and the welcoming porches that seemed to whisper tales of family gatherings and long summer nights.

Her husband, Terrence, was already inside, unpacking boxes filled with their lives from their old home. He was a neurosurgeon, a man of precision and order, and Chelsea knew that the chaos of moving would only add to his stress. But she couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement as she approached the front door. The house was a symbol of their success, a testament to their hard work and their families' legacies. As she stepped into the foyer, she heard the distant sound of Terrence's voice, muffled by the walls that now stood between them.

The house was cool and unfamiliar, smelling faintly of paint and new carpets. The echoes of their footsteps made it seem like a cavernous museum rather than a home filled with love and laughter. The grandeur of their new abode was a stark reminder of the expectations that had been placed upon them since childhood. Chelsea and Terrence had worked their asses off to maintain the status quo, to be the poster children for "love" and "excellence". But as she looked around, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It was as if their lives had been painted by numbers and they hadn't had the courage to scribble outside the lines.

"Terrence, where are you?" Chelsea called out, her voice echoing through the vast, empty space.

Terrence emerged from the depths of their future dining room, sweat beading on his brow. "In here, baby. I'm just getting the last of the china unpacked. Your momma's gonna love that we finally have our own china cabinet."

Chelsea couldn't help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. It was true, their parents had been thrilled with their move to Cincinnati. It was a step up for both their careers and a chance to rub elbows with the upper echelon of society. But for Chelsea, the move had brought a sense of suffocation. She was an entertainment lawyer, used to the fast-paced, glitzy world of celebrities and sports stars in Atlanta. Here, she felt like a fish out of water.

"I brought lunch," Chelsea announced, holding up a bag from the deli they passed on the drive in. She set it down on the marble kitchen countertop and opened it, revealing hot sandwiches and a side of chips. "I know how you hate eating cold food, so I figured I'd be nice and get you something warm."

Terrence looked up from the box he was unpacking, his eyes lighting up. "You're a lifesaver, baby," he said, stepping over to give her a quick smile. His hand lingered on the small of her back, a gesture that was somehow both casual and possessive. "How was your first day at the firm?"

Chelsea shrugged, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice. "It was great. Met some interesting people. The office is nice, but it's going to take some getting used to." She handed him a sandwich and watched as he took a bite, his eyes closing briefly in satisfaction. "It's not Atlanta, that's for sure," she added, unable to hide the wistfulness that crept into her tone.

Terrence looked at her, his expression softening. "I know it's a change, but it's for a good reason. I'm making more money, saving more lives... we're in this together." He took another bite, then paused. "What do you think about the neighborhood? They got some crazy-ass houses around here."

Chelsea nodded, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Yeah, it's nice. You saw the fuckin' three-story McMansion next door? I ran into the retired couple who own it, the Chens. They had their grandkids over, screaming and playing in the yard. It was cute." She took a bite of her cold sandwich, savoring the flavor of the turkey and avocado.

Terrence chuckled. "I'm sure it'll be quieter when they're not around." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Speaking of neighbors, I've heard the couple on the other side are pretty cool. The wife owns that fancy ass restaurant downtown. We should pop over there and introduce ourselves."

"Gianna Mora?" Chelsea's eyes widened. "The celebrity chef from that travel show? Are you for real, she's our neighbor?"

"That's the most excited I seen you all week," Terrence said with a laugh, his eyes sparkling at the mention of their famous neighbor.

"Well, it's not every day you live next to a celebrity chef," Chelsea replied, her curiosity piqued. "I've seen her show a few times. She seems really down-to-earth."

Terrence nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she's got that whole 'girl next door' vibe going on. Her and her husband, they seem like good people." He took another bite of his sandwich, his voice muffled slightly. "I think I saw him out jogging this morning. He got to be pushing six-four, 220 pounds, easy."

Chelsea felt a twinge of curiosity about the mysterious neighbor, Joe Burrow. She had heard Gianna's name often in the entertainment circles, but never knew much about her husband. The idea of a quiet, introverted man being married to a vibrant, outgoing celebrity was entertaining. She imagined him as a silent supporter, the rock that kept Gianna grounded amidst her culinary stardom.

The sound of the doorbell cut through her thoughts, and Chelsea wiped her hands on a spare napkin before walking over to answer it. She was surprised to find Gianna on the other side, her bouncy, jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a warm smile on her face. "Hey, I hope you guys aren't too busy," she said, her eyes scanning the still-boxed living room. "I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself properly. I'm Gianna."

Chelsea stepped aside, gesturing for Gianna to come in. "Of course, we've been meaning to do the same," she said, feeling a little guilty for not taking the initiative. "I'm Chelsea, and this is my husband, Terrence."

Gianna's smile grew as she stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "It's so nice to meet you both," she said, her midwestern accent adding a layer of charm to her already bubbly personality. "I figured you guys might need a break from all the unpacking. Plus, I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. My husband Joe will be home from his business trip, and I love any excuse to mess around in the kitchen."

Terrence wiped his hands on his pants, setting down his half-eaten sandwich. "That's incredibly kind of you, Gianna. We'd love to come over."

Gianna's smile widened. "Perfect. How does eight o'clock sound?"

"We'll be there," Terrence said, flashing his most charming smile. "Looking forward to tasting some of that famous cooking of yours."

Gianna's eyes twinkled with excitement. "It won't be anything too fancy," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Just a little welcome dinner for the new kids on the block." She handed Chelsea a business card with the address of her restaurant. "And if you're ever in the mood for something special, feel free to stop by the restaurant. I can always whip something up for you."

"Thanks for the invite, Gianna," Chelsea said, her eyes flicking to the paper before setting it down on the counter. "I'm sure it'll be amazing. We'll see you tonight."

As the door closed behind Gianna, Terrence turned to her. "You okay with this?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "I know you've had a long week."

Chelsea nodded, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll be nice to get to know our neighbors."

Terrence leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And maybe get a little gossip on the local celeb scene," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Chelsea couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You just want to get closer to her recipes," she said, tossing a napkin at him. "But sure, let's get ready. I need to find something to wear that doesn't look like I just rolled out of a moving van."

"Wait, baby, hold on," Terrence called out, reaching for her hand as she moved to stand up. "I think we have to christen the house, don't you?"

Chelsea sighed, the weight of his words not lost on her. She knew what he wanted, and while the timing was less than ideal, she also knew it would be a quick and easy way to keep him satisfied. She nodded, a forced smile playing on her lips as she let him pull her back down to the couch. He kissed her, his hands moving to the zipper of her skirt. It was a dance they had performed countless times before, a routine that lacked the passion it once had.

As they undressed each other, Chelsea couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. Terrence was still the same romantic he had been in college, but that was precisely the problem. He had stayed the same while she had grown into a woman who craved more. More excitement, more adventure, more everything. But she pushed her thoughts aside as she focused on the task at hand, trying to find some semblance of satisfaction in their lovemaking.

Terrence, oblivious to her inner turmoil, whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he kissed along her neck. Chelsea closed her eyes, willing herself to feel something, anything, other than the coldness that had settled in her chest. She let out a moan, hoping to convince herself more than him, and he took it as an encouragement to go harder. The couch creaked under their weight as they moved in a rhythm that had become all too familiar.

Afterwards, Chelsea stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, and she looked tired. She quickly cleaned herself up and slipped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the feeling of emptiness that lingered. When she emerged, she found Terrence getting dressed for the dinner, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

"You look amazing," Terrence said, his eyes appreciating her figure as she stepped out of the bathroom. "Like you just stepped out of a magazine."

Chelsea forced a smile, wrapping a towel around her body. "Thanks, T," she said, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. She had chosen a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. It was a classic choice, one that she knew would make her look put together without trying too hard. She didn't bother with the lingerie Terrence typically encouraged her to slip on; it was just for show tonight.

They arrived at Gianna and Joe's home promptly at eight, the warm glow of lights spilling out from the windows. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, making Chelsea's stomach rumble. Terrence knocked on the door, and after a moment, it swung open to reveal Joe. He was dressed casually in a button-down shirt and jeans, his hair slightly ruffled as if hastily blow-dried.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, his eyes lingering on Chelsea a beat too long before looking at Terrence. "I'm glad you could make it. I'm Joe Burrow." He shook Terrence's hand firmly and then offered his hand to Chelsea. She took it, feeling a spark of something unfamiliar jolt through her at the touch. The two men exchanged a bottle of Terrence's homemade apple cider, as Chelsea attempted to moderate her heartbeat.

Gianna emerged from the kitchen, a vision in a flowy red dress that hugged her petite frame. She had a warm smile that seemed to light up the room, and her eyes were bright with excitement as she greeted them. "Come in, come in," she said, her accent a delightful blend of her midwestern roots and her PR training. "I hope you're hungry, I made some pozole rojo that I've been dying to share with someone other than Joe."

The four of them settled around the dinner table, the conversation flowing easily. Chelsea found herself drawn to Joe's deep blue eyes and the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he reached for the bread. He was handsome in a way that was almost old fashioned, like a 1940s movie star who'd stepped out of the screen into their modern lives. And there was something about the way he talked, the quiet confidence in his voice, that made her want to lean in closer, to hear every word he said.

Terrence and Gianna talked about their work, the challenges of balancing their demanding careers with their personal lives. Chelsea listened, nodding along, but her mind kept drifting back to Joe. She could feel the tension between them, a palpable force that seemed to thicken the air in the room. It was as if they were the only two people there, and everyone else was just a blurry backdrop to their clandestine attraction.

Dinner was a delightful array of flavors and textures, each bite a testament to Gianna's culinary talents. But Chelsea had to admit, she was having a hard time focusing on the food. Her focus kept wandering to Joe, the way his strong hands moved as he reached for a tortilla, the way his voice rumbled in his chest when he laughed. She took a sip of the wine from the winery Gianna and Joe owned, trying to keep her cool. The conversation turned to their hometowns, and Chelsea talked about growing up in the bustling streets of Atlanta, the vibrant culture and the endless energy that had shaped her into who she was today. Joe spoke of his small-town upbringing, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia that made Chelsea's heart ache.

Terrence excused himself to take a work call, leaving Chelsea, Gianna, and Joe to continue the evening. Chelsea felt a strange sense of relief, as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. The conversation grew more intimate, the three of them sharing stories of their college days and their early careers. Chelsea found herself laughing at Joe's tales of his college football days, his face lighting up with the memories. Gianna, ever the gracious host, listened intently, her eyes shimmering with pride.

As the wine bottle grew empty, Joe suggested they move to the living room, where a crackling fire and comfortable couches beckoned. Chelsea agreed, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her body, loosening her inhibitions. She across from Gianna whose head rested against Joe's broad shoulder, his wedding ring glistening as he rested his left hand over the back of the couch. Terrence joined them, his eyes glazed over with the fatigue of a doctor's schedule.

The conversation took a turn to their respective careers and how they had met their spouses. Chelsea and Terrence talked about their college romance, their paths diverging and then converging again in the world of law and medicine. Gianna shared her journey from culinary school to opening her own restaurant, which Joe had supported her through every step of the way. It was clear that Joe and Gianna had a strong bond, built on respect and a shared history. Yet, as the night grew late, Chelsea couldn't shake the feeling that Joe's eyes kept straying to her.

When Terrence finally stood up, yawning and checking his watch, Chelsea felt a jolt of disappointment. She didn't want the evening to end, not yet. But she knew she couldn't ask him to stay. "We should get going," Terrence said, "It's been a long day and I've got an early surgery tomorrow."

"Let's exchange numbers," Chelsea suggested, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "We should get together again once we're all settled in."

Gianna beamed, and the two women exchanged numbers while Joe quietly observed. Chelsea felt his gaze on her as she said goodbye, the intensity of it making her heart race. They stepped out into the cool Cincinnati night, the stars glinting in the sky above their heads. Terrence walked them down the sidewalk to their home, his hand resting protectively on the small of Chelsea's back.

The next few weeks saw Chelsea and Joe's paths crossing more often than not. They'd wave from their respective lawns as they mowed the grass or tended to their flowers. They'd bump into each other while out at their mailboxes, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. Yet, the charged energy between them grew with each encounter, the unspoken desire thickening like the humidity in the air before a summer storm.

Work kept both Chelsea and Joe busy, allowing their attraction to simmer under the surface of their daily lives. Yet, every time their eyes met, the electricity was undeniable. Chelsea found herself looking forward to these casual meetings, her heart fluttering as she anticipated their next encounter.

Chelsea closed out a huge contract with a professional basketball player about two months after moving to Cincinnati, feeling a high she hadn't experienced in weeks. As she pulled into the driveway, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Terrence's car in the garage. He was rarely home before dark. She bounced into the house, her heels echoing through the grand entryway, and found him in the living room, surrounded by the last of their cardboard boxes. "Surprise," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I took the afternoon off. I thought we could finally get this place in order."

Their relationship had been chilly since the move, but Chelsea felt a spark of hope at his gesture. They worked side by side, unpacking and rearranging furniture, and when the last box was empty, they collapsed onto the couch, laughing and sweaty. It was the most relaxed she'd been around him in months, and Chelsea allowed herself to feel a flicker of affection for him.

"Thank you for helping me today," she said, leaning into his side.

Terrence grinned, his eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the TV. "No problem. It's what we do for each other."

But as the days rolled into weeks, the spark didn't catch. The routine of their marriage resumed its monotonous cycle, and Chelsea found herself looking out the window, watching Joe jog past her house in the early mornings. His tall, muscular frame was a stark contrast to Terrence's slim build, and she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those arms around her instead.

"I'm all packed, Chels," Terrence called out from their bedroom, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't wait up for me tonight, I've got a full surgical schedule and an even longer flight. I'll be back in a week." He kissed her on the forehead and she nodded. Terrence would be attending a medical conference in London, leaving Chelsea to hold down the fort and entertain her best friend flying in from Atlanta for the weekend.

Chelsea watched Terrence's taillights disappear into the early morning sunlight, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. The house was quiet, almost too quiet without his constant presence. She had the weekend to herself, but she knew the silence would only amplify her thoughts of Joe. But with her best friend, Jasmine, arriving that evening, she had no time to wallow in her illicit desires.

With a deep breath, Chelsea turned her focus to the impending weekend. She had plans to take Jasmine to all the local hotspots, including Gianna's restaurant. As they unpacked her luggage, Chelsea's phone buzzed with a message from Gianna, supportive of Chelsea's suggestion they all grab dinner together the following night at the restaurant.

That evening, as Chelsea and Jasmine lounged on the plush couch with a bottle of wine, both Terrence and Joe were the furthest thing from her mind. They laughed and reminisced about their old antics, filling the air with nostalgia. Chelsea had missed this, the genuine connection with someone who knew her before she became Mrs. Brooks, the high-powered, ultra-successful attorney. Jasmine was a reminder of the wild, carefree woman Chelsea used to be before the expectations of her family and marriage had tamed her spirit.

The next night, Chelsea and Jasmine got dressed to the nines for dinner at Gianna's restaurant. The scent of garlic and spices wafted from the kitchen, tantalizing their senses. As they waited for their table, Joe strolled in, looking as suave as ever in a tailored suit. Chelsea felt a jolt of electricity at the sight of him, and she knew that she hadn't been able to shake the attraction she'd felt that first night. She introduced Jasmine and the two of them chatted for a bit before Gianna whisked them away to show off the kitchen.

Jasmine leaned in to whisper, "Damn, girl, your neighbor is fine."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, "Really? I didn't notice."

The evening passed in a delightful blur of exquisite food and lively conversation. Gianna regaled them with tales from her show, and Joe shared stories from his corporate world. Despite their different backgrounds, Chelsea found herself drawn into Joe's world, his quiet confidence and sharp wit a refreshing change from Terrence's stoic nature. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of something she hadn't felt in a long time—desire.

As they said their goodnights, Joe's hand grazed Chelsea's arm, sending a shiver down her spine. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't resist the allure of the flame. The following day, as Chelsea pulled out of the driveway to drive Jasmine back to the airport, she saw Joe outside, dressed in a suit again, presumably heading off to work. He waved and she felt her cheeks warm, the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension between Chelsea and Joe grew thicker than the humid Cincinnati air. They saw each other in passing, exchanging polite smiles and lingering stares, but not much else. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying her thoughts in contracts and negotiations, but Joe's magnetic presence was never far from her mind.

One sweltering afternoon, as Chelsea returned from a particularly grueling day at the office, she spotted Joe in his backyard, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tended to the garden. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and strong hands. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she found herself walking over, her high heels sinking into the soft grass.

"I didn't know Mr. CFO had a green thumb," Chelsea called out, her voice carrying over the fence that separated their properties.

Joe looked up, a smirk playing on his lips as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's one of the few things that keeps me sane," he responded, straightening up to give her a better view of his body. His white dry-fit pulled taut across his broad chest. "Gigi likes to grow her own herbs and somehow, I got roped into it."

Chelsea stepped closer, the heat from the sun matching the warmth that spread through her body. "I can see the appeal," she said, her eyes raking over his muscular physique. "It's therapeutic."

Joe nodded, his gaze lingering on her figure. "It's a good distraction," he said, the double meaning clear in his voice.

"I could use a distraction," Chelsea admitted, her voice low and sultry. She stepped back from the fence, work bag in hand. "It was nice to see you. Happy gardening."

Another five weeks passed, and Chelsea found herself getting ready for the annual fundraising gala for her firm. The event was a mix of high-profile clients and potential new business connections, so the pressure to make a good impression was high. As she slipped into her form-fitting black gown, she couldn't help the sinking disappointment flood through her when Terrence called to say he had to cover an emergency surgery. He'd miss the gala, leaving her to attend alone.

The hotel ballroom was a whirlwind of glitz and glamour, the air thick with ambition and expensive cologne. Chelsea felt both out of place and completely at home as she mingled with the city's elite. She had hoped to use the evening to put Joe out of her mind, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Sure enough, when she turned to grab a glass of champagne from the waiter, she saw him standing by the bar, looking every inch the powerful CFO he was. His eyes met hers, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. They hadn't talked since the day she saw him in the garden, but the heat was as potent as ever.

"Joe," she said, trying to sound casual. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

He approached her, his smile wry. "Gianna had a last-minute filming gig," he said, holding up his own glass. "I thought I'd come to support a good cause. I didn't realize this was your firm?"

Chelsea felt her heart race as she took a sip of the bubbly. "It's a small world," she murmured, her eyes darting around the room. "But I should probably go mingle."

Joe leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Or you could stay here and mingle with me," he suggested, his hand brushing against her bare back.

Chelsea's skin prickled with desire, and she knew she was playing with fire. "I shouldn't," she whispered, trying to pull away. But Joe's touch was like a magnet, drawing her back in.

"Why not?" he challenged, his voice low and seductive. "We're just two adults enjoying a bit of conversation." His hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The heat of his palm seemed to burn through the fabric of her dress.

Chelsea's resolve was slipping. The room felt too warm, the noise of the party a distant buzz. "Because we're both married," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "to two great people who don't deserve to be hurt."

Joe's expression grew serious, his hand lingering on her back. "You're right," he said, "but we're also two people with needs." His thumb traced small circles on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "Needs that aren't being met."

Confusion flickered in Chelsea's eyes, the conflict between her desires and her conscience playing out on her features. "Gigi's drop-dead gorgeous," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "and Terrence... he's a good guy. Why isn't that enough?" She practically scoffed at the thought as if scolding herself for being unfulfilled.

Joe's gaze grew intense. "It's not about what's enough," he replied, his hand sliding lower to rest just above the curve of her ass. "It's about what we want." His voice was a low rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her. "And I know what I want."

Their conversation was interrupted by a colleague of Chelsea's, breaking the tension like a knife through hot butter. She was torn, part of her relieved for the interruption, the other part craving Joe's touch. As she was dragged away to schmooze with potential clients, she could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. The evening grew longer, the conversations more forced, and she found herself counting down the minutes until she could be alone with her thoughts.

When the event finally wound down, Chelsea made her escape to the hotel's lobby, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She was about to call for a ride home when Joe appeared beside her, his hand on her elbow. "Let me take you home," he offered, his voice thick with intent.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed the consequences of her decision. With a deep breath, she nodded. They made their way to his car, the cool night air doing little to calm her racing thoughts. The drive was filled with tense silence, their eyes meeting every time they stopped at a red light. The anticipation was palpable, a silent crescendo building between them.

When they arrived at her house, Joe's hand lingered on the gear shift. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken desire. He turned to her, his eyes searching hers.

"Chelsea," he began, his voice gruff with want.

With a surge of control, Chelsea moved to open the passenger door. "Thank you for the ride, Joe," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I should get inside. I'm exhausted."

He nodded slowly, the tension in the car thick as they both knew what they were walking away from. "Alright," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll see you around?"

"Sure," she replied, her voice a soft sigh. "See you around."

The door clicked shut, and Joe waited until she was safely inside before driving away. Chelsea leaned against the door, her hand on her racing heart, feeling the weight of the evening's events pressing down on her. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't deny the excitement that danced within her.

Her body felt heavy as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, the memory of Joe's touch still electric on her skin. She slipped out of her dress and into her silk nightgown, her mind replaying the night's events in a dizzying loop. As she slid between the cool sheets, she couldn't shake the feeling of Joe's eyes on her, his touch, his voice. Her hand traveled down her body, tracing the same paths he had earlier. Her breath grew ragged as she reached her own release, moaning his name out loud into the darkness, the syllables falling off her tongue as if destined.

The next day, she found herself unable to concentrate at work, her thoughts consumed by Joe. The office felt stifling, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling the same. She found her eyes darting to her phone, waiting for a message that never came. It was as if the universe knew she was teetering on the edge, and it was holding its breath.

When she got home, she was surprised to find a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep with a note that simply read, "All my best." She knew immediately they were from Joe, and the gesture sent a shiver down her spine. She brought them inside, placing them on the kitchen counter, and stared at them for what felt like hours, the scent of roses filling the room.

They kept running into each other, the tension growing with every passing encounter. They exchanged glances that spoke volumes, but neither made a move. The weight of their secret grew heavier with each shared smile, each lingering touch. It was a dance they both knew could end in disaster, but the music was too tempting to resist.

The next time she spoke to him was a Saturday afternoon in May. Terrence was out playing golf with colleagues, and she had spent the day cleaning from top to bottom. The house was finally starting to feel like home, but she couldn't ignore the emptiness that echoed through the halls. The sun cast a gorgeous glow over the neighborhood as she stepped outside to get some fresh air. She exchanged her usual business attire for a pair of shorts and a simple tank top, her freshly pressed hair pulled into a high ponytail.

As she sat on the porch swing, the sound of faint grunts and huffed counting from Joe's backyard caught her attention. Curious, she slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look. She found him shirtless, a sheen of sweat glistening on his broad chest and shoulders as he worked through a set of push-ups. Chelsea couldn't help but admire the play of muscles beneath his skin, her gaze lingering longer than she intended.

Their eyes met, and Joe paused mid-push-up, a smirk playing on his lips as he held his hover over the shaded pavement effortlessly. He didn't bother getting up, instead continuing his workout, clearly enjoying the attention. She felt the heat creep into her cheeks and turned away, looking down as she pretended to examine the fence. The sound of his footsteps grew closer until he was standing on the other side, just a few wooden slats separating them.

"You know, I could use a spotter," he called over with a laugh, his voice low and teasing. "Or are you just here to admire the view?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her own smirk. "I wouldn't dare interrupt your workout routine, Mr. Burrow," she quipped, trying to sound more casual than she felt.

"Joe," he corrected, his voice dropping an octave. "And I could use the company."

The air thickened between them, charged with unspoken desire. Chelsea felt her heart quicken. She knew she should go inside, maintain the facade of a contented wife. But she didn't move. Instead, she found herself saying, "I make a kick-ass iced tea, if you're thirsty."

Joe's grin widened, and without missing a beat, he responded, "I'm parched. I'll be right over."

The moment Joe stepped into her kitchen, the air grew electric. Chelsea poured two tall glasses of iced tea, her hands shaking slightly as she handed him one. They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast, and she took a sip, the sweetness and coolness providing a brief respite from the heat building inside her. He drank deeply, watching her over the rim, his eyes never leaving hers. The silence stretched out, a taut thread ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Your house is beautiful," Joe said finally, breaking the silence as he scanned the open-plan living room. "I don't think I've seen it all put together yet."

"Thank you," Chelsea replied, her eyes following the trail of condensation down the side of her glass. "It's still a work in progress, not 100% what I want, but it's coming together." She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the space, making the house feel both smaller and more alive than it had in months.

They made small talk as they walked around the house, Joe nodding and making the occasional comment about the decor, though his eyes never strayed from hers for long. The conversation grew more intimate as they sat down in the living room, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea's eyes flicked to the clock on the mantle, reminding her that she had a few hours before Terrence was due home.

"So, what's been keeping you busy?" Joe asked, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

"Coaster, please," Chelsea said with a smile, gesturing to the spot where his glass was leaving a ring. Joe's eyes followed her gesture and he chuckled, placing it on the provided coaster. "I got thrown into an image rights case last minute," she continued. "I've been in and out of court most days, so not much time for anything else."

"Sounds hectic," Joe said, leaning back into the couch, his muscular arms flexing under the fabric of his shirt. "But I'm sure you're crushing it."

"I try," Chelsea said, sipping her tea, her gaze lingering on the way his biceps bulged. "But sometimes, I wish I could just take a break from it all."

Joe leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "What would you do if you could?"

Her breath hitched. "I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe just escape."

Joe set his glass aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. "Where would you go?"

"Somewhere tropical," she said, observing the brown drink in her hand. "White sand beaches, clear water, and zero cell service. Terrence gets so antsy when he's away from work, I doubt he'd even come with me." She lifted her eyes to find Joe studying her, his expression unreadable.

"You deserve a break," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Someone should take care of you."

The words hung in the air, and Chelsea's heart raced at the implication. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. "I'm sure you're busy too, with the winery and your work."

Joe leaned back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, it's been a grind. But sometimes, you need to make time for what's important." His hand hovered over her thigh, and she felt the warmth of his touch pressing into her skin. She didn't move away.

The room grew quiet, filled only with the faint hum of the AC and the distant sound of a lawnmower outside. Chelsea's skin prickled with anticipation as Joe's hand slid closer to her, the fabric of her shorts the only barrier. She took another sip of tea, the ice cubes clinking against the glass, the sound amplified in the tense silence.

"What do you think is important?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe's hand stilled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her thigh. "Well, I think taking care of yourself is pretty high on the list." His eyes never left hers, the intensity of his gaze making her feel both exposed and desired. "And maybe," he paused, his smile growing, "finding someone who enjoys taking care of you too."

Chelsea's breathing grew shallower, her eyes flicking to his hand, then back to his face. She knew what he was implying, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. "We're married, Joe," she reminded him, her voice strained.

Joe shrugged, his thumb continuing its tantalizing dance. "Doesn't mean we can't take care of each other."

Chelsea's resolve was wavering, the heat of his touch spreading through her like wildfire. She set her glass down on a duplicate coaster, her hand trembling slightly. "Joe..." she began, unsure of what to say next.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "No one has to know," he whispered. "We can keep it our little secret." His hand inched higher, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the material of her shorts. "Tell me you don't want this."

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine a life where she could be with Joe, free from the shackles of her unfulfilling marriage. But reality crashed back down on her, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself. "We can't," she said firmly, moving his hand away. "We're married to other people, and we have to respect that."

Joe leaned back, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "I know," he said, his voice softer. "But I also know that sometimes, you need more than what you have."

Chelsea sighed, unable to deny the truth of his words. "Fuck," she whispered, feeling the weight of the unspoken agreement between them. They sat there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Then she leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. "Fuck me," she murmured, her voice thick with need. "Here. Now."

Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He stood, pulling Chelsea to her feet, their bodies colliding in a frenzied kiss. His hands roamed her body, and she moaned into his mouth, feeling alive in a way she hadn't in years. They stumbled through the living room, knocking over a vase in their haste. Chelsea didn't care. All she could focus on was the heat of Joe's touch and the promise of the pleasure he offered.

They fell onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and need. Joe's hands were everywhere, pulling her tank top over her head and unhooking her bra with deft fingers. Chelsea's own hands were equally busy, her nails trailed down his back, feeling the power beneath his shirt. They were like starving lovers, desperate to devour each other, their clothes flying off in a frenzy of passion.

The couch creaked under their weight as Joe positioned himself over her, his erection pressing against her thigh. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer. His kisses grew more demanding as he kissed a trail down her neck, making her arch her back in response. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her collarbone, eliciting a gasp. The feel of his stubble against her skin was exhilarating, opposing the sleek smoothness she was used to with Terrence.

Chelsea reached down and fumbled with his athletic shorts, her heart racing. The fabric slid down his hips, revealing his hardened length concealed under his boxer briefs. She took him in her hand, stroking him gently. Joe groaned, his eyes closing as he felt her touch. His own hand found her center, and she was wet and ready for him. He teased her with his fingers, exploring her folds and finding her clit. She moaned, pushing herself into his hand, eager for more.

With a growl, Joe kissed her again, his tongue claiming her mouth as he entered her. Chelsea's eyes widened with pleasure, her body responding to him in ways it hadn't for Terrence in so long. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. The couch protested with every movement, but the sound was lost in their muffled cries and gasps. Chelsea's breasts bounced with the rhythm, her nipples tight and sensitive. Joe's eyes were locked on hers, the intensity in them making her feel like the only woman in the world.

The room spun as Chelsea moaned out at the feeling of the stretch. She raked her nails down his back, urging him on. He responded, his strokes growing more erratic and his breathing more ragged. The friction between them was electric, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She willed him closer, pulling her into her sweet heat, as if wanting to embed his skin onto hers.

"Wait, do you have a condom?" Chelsea managed to ask breathlessly, the realization hitting her like a cold shower. Joe paused, looking surprised for a moment before nodding and reaching for his discarded pants. He fished out a foil packet from his wallet and tore it open with his teeth, sliding it onto himself with an efficiency that spoke of experience.

She couldn't bring herself to think too hard about the implications of Joe carrying a condom at the ready. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him sheathing himself and sinking back into her. The sensation was exquisite, filling a void she hadn't even realized existed. They moved together, their bodies syncing in a way she had thought was reserved for movies and romance novels. The passion between them was intoxicating, the air thick with desire.

Sweat glistened on their skin as Joe picked up the pace. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of a climax she hadn't experienced in years. Her eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, her toes curling into the plush rug beneath them. When it finally crashed over her, she called out his name, her voice echoing in the quiet room. Joe followed shortly after, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into the latex barrier.

Chelsea's body felt like jelly as Joe pulled out and they both lay panting on the couch, their clothes in disarray. The moment of passion hovered over them like a cloud, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Chelsea's mind raced as she stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what they had just done. The weight of their actions settled on her shoulders, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction that coursed through her veins.

They both knew they had crossed a line, and the guilt began to creep in. Chelsea sat up, smoothing her hair before reaching down to pull her underwear back up her shapely legs. She searched Joe's eyes for a sign of what was to come, but all she found was a mirror to her own tumultuous emotions. He stood and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. They were silent as they redressed, the sound of fabric rustling and their hearts beating loudly in the quiet.

A notification pinged, echoing through the tense space. Chelsea's phone vibrated on the coffee table, and she reached for it almost instinctively. It was a message from Terrence, checking in on her evening. The irony wasn't lost on her as she typed out a quick response, playing the role of the devoted wife. Joe leaned against the arm of the couch, watching her with a mix of satisfaction and something else she couldn't quite place. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark with lust that hadn't fully subsided.

"We should probably talk," Joe said, his voice low and serious, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.

Chelsea's head shook from side to side, her mind racing with the gravity of their actions. "What is there to talk about?" she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "We both know this can't go anywhere. We are married, Joe."

Joe's eyes searched hers for understanding. "I know, Chelsea. But I can't ignore this connection. And I don't think you can either."

"But we have to," Chelsea insisted, her voice trembling as she tried to convince herself more than him. She knew the rules of their social circles, the expectations of their families. A scandal like this would ruin everything they'd worked so hard to build. She stepped away, creating a physical distance between them as she tried to reconstruct the walls she'd allowed to crumble.

"I don't know what your marriage is like," Joe began, his voice gentle yet firm, "but I know mine hasn't been the same in a long time." His eyes searched hers, looking for a flicker of understanding. "And something tells me you're not exactly thrilled with yours either."

Chelsea's heart thudded in her chest as she took in his words. The truth in them resonated deep within her, making it difficult to maintain her stance. She knew he wasn't wrong, but admitting it aloud was another matter entirely. "It's complicated," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just throw away everything I have with Terrence."

Joe nodded, his expression understanding. "I'm not asking you to," he assured her. "But I'm also not going to pretend that what just happened didn't mean something." He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush her palm to her warm cheek. "I want to see you again, Chelsea. I want to explore this—whatever it is—between us."

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to lean into it. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of their situation pressing down on her. When she opened them, she found Joe's gaze still fixed on her, filled with a determination that she hadn't seen before. "Joe, we can't," she said, her voice a barely-there whisper. "This isn't right."

"I know," Joe replied, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "But sometimes, things that aren't right feel incredibly right." His hand dropped, and he took a step back, giving her the space she needed to breathe. "Look, I'm not asking you to leave Terrence or for us to run away together. But we both know we can't keep pretending we don't feel something. If we can find a way to do this without hurting anyone, I think we owe it to ourselves to see where it goes."

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing. The thought of being with Joe, of feeling alive again in a way she hadn't in years, was tempting beyond measure. But she was also a woman of integrity, and the thought of deceiving her husband and new friend was unbearable. She searched Joe's eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or insincerity. What she found instead was a man who was lost, just as she was, seeking solace in a connection that transcended their stagnant marriages.

"I think you should leave," Chelsea said finally, her voice trembling with the effort it took to keep her emotions in check. "I'm sorry, Joe, but we can't do this again. It's not fair to either of them."

Joe nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he murmured, "but you know where to find me if you change your mind." With a sigh, he pulled back, collected himself, and walked out the door. For a moment she watched him go, the ache in her chest growing with every step he took.

The days that followed were a tumultuous blend of guilt and longing. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying herself in contracts and negotiations to keep her mind off Joe. But every time she saw his car pull into the driveway next door, her resolve wavered. The memory of their illicit encounter burned into her every thought, tempting her to abandon caution and explore the depths of their shared desire.

Terrence was increasingly more absent, a side effect of his new position that required frequent travel and long hours. Chelsea's mind wandered to Joe during the lonely nights, the quiet house a punishing reminder of the void in her life. Her fantasies grew more daring with each passing day, and she found herself craving the thrill of their clandestine meeting. She could practically smell Joe's cologne still. It was dark, musky, and filled her with a hunger that she had never felt with Terrence.

Work proved to be the only respite from the chaotic whirlwind of emotions Chelsea felt. Each day at the office was a battle to keep her thoughts from drifting to Joe, the way his eyes had lit up when they talked, the warmth of his touch, and the raw passion that had overtaken them that night. Her interactions with Gianna had become that much more painful, knowing she was hiding such a massive secret from her friend. The weight of their affair grew heavier with every shared smile or casual wave between their houses.

Chelsea couldn't help the scoff that escaped her as she read through the loophole-ridden contract displayed on her computer screen. The office had been buzzing as usual, the Monday morning rush bringing in a wave of new cases and clients. With Terrence being so busy with his new role, she had logged more hours in, catching the attention of a senior partner at the firm. He had, not so subtly, hinted at a promotion to junior partner on the horizon if she kept up her current pace.

So she dove head first into her work, the pile of legal documents becoming a welcome distraction from the tempest of guilt and desire that swirled within her. Her days grew longer, her nights lonelier, and with each passing hour, the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble.

Months ago she had known things with Terrence had grown stale, but now, with Joe's presence a constant reminder of what she was missing, the cracks in their marriage had become a chasm. The weight of her secret grew heavier with every encounter, yet she couldn't bring herself to confess.

Part of her knew that she was reluctant to confess because she was holding onto a bit of hope that things would change. That the infatuation she once held for the older, charming medical student would return. That the man who had swept her off her feet and promised her the world would remember that they had once been each other's everything. But with each passing day, she realized that hope was fading into the shadows of her reality.

If she was being honest with herself, the most disheartening part of her marriage was the fact that she couldn't tell if Terrence had noticed the change in her. His work kept him away more and more, and when he was home, it was as if he couldn't be bothered to see her, blind to the tumultuous emotions she wrestled with.

Maybe it hurt her so much because she knew he wasn't entirely oblivious. There were moments when she'd catch him looking at her with a hint of longing in his eyes, as if he knew she was slipping away but was too proud to ask why. There were others still when he would attempt to reconnect with her, hinting at their former passion with gentle touches and whispers. But it was only ever through sex that he seemed to try to bridge the gap between them, and even that had grown mechanical and forced.

The ringing of the office phone cut through her focus and Chelsea found herself eager to escape the claustrophobic walls of her thoughts. The caller ID revealed the incoming call from the reception's desk. "This is Chelsea Brooks," she answered in her professional tone, hoping it was a new client or an emergency that could occupy her mind and free her from the spiraling thoughts of her personal life.

The receptionist's voice was smooth, unknowing even, "Mrs. Brooks, there's a Mr. Joe Burrow here to see you. He said it's important and that he won't take up much of your time."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She had told Joe to stay away, yet here he was, barging into her workplace like he had every right to be there. "Tell him I'm busy," she instructed firmly, trying to keep her cool.

The receptionist's voice returned a moment later, "Mr. Burrow insists it's urgent, Mrs. Brooks. He says he'll wait if you're busy."

Chelsea sighed, her hand tightening around the phone. She couldn't risk a scene at work. Not with Joe. "Send him in," she said, resigned to the inevitable.

Joe entered her office with the same confidence he had that day in her kitchen, his tall frame and broad shoulders seemingly swallowing the space. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her squirm in her chair. His tailored suit hugged his body in all the right places, reminding her of the power she felt when he was inside her.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with a hundred different ways to tell him that this couldn't continue. She had to end it before it destroyed everything she had worked so hard to build. "Joe, what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

He stepped closer to her desk, his eyes glued to hers. "Chelsea, I can't stop thinking about you," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

Her chest tightened. She knew she should be firm, but the raw desire in his words made it difficult. "Joe, we agreed..." she started, but he cut her off.

"I know what we agreed," he said, his voice gruff with passion. "But I can't help it. When I see you with Terrence, it kills me. You deserve more than what he's giving you."

Chelsea felt the heat of his words, the truth of them burning through her resolve like a hot knife through butter. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond. "What about Gianna? Do you think this is what she deserves? For you to be here, showing up at my office, telling me you can't stop thinking about me?"

Joe took a step closer, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Gianna and I have our own issues, Chelsea. You know that. And I don't expect you to fix them. But I can't ignore what we have either. I can't let this go without knowing if there's something more to it."

Chelsea felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his body invading her space. The smell of his cologne, so different from Terrence's, was intoxicating. She wanted to lean into it, to let him take her again. But she knew she couldn't. Not here. Not now. "Joe, please," she whispered, her voice a plea for sanity. "Don't make it harder on me than it already is."

He stepped back, his expression softening. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a mix of regret and apology. "I didn't mean to pressure you. I just..." He trailed off, his hand raking through his hair. "I miss you."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was raw need. She stood up, the need to keep distance between them overwhelming. "Miss me?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "Joe, we can't. We're married to other people."

Joe stepped closer, his hand reaching out to her. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But we can't ignore this either." His hand grazed her arm, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. "I need to feel you again, Chelsea."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or regret, but all she found was a deep, burning passion that mirrored her own. The room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that was palpable. The sound of her own breathing was loud in her ears, her pulse racing with every beat.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now. But Gianna's in Europe filming for the rest of the week, and I'd like to talk, really talk, over dinner. Just us," Joe said, his voice low and urgent. "Swing by around 8, I'll cook. It'll just be us, no expectations, no pressure."

Chelsea hesitated, Joe's gaze holding hers. The room seemed to spin around them, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. She knew she should say no, that she should put a stop to this dangerous dance before it spiraled out of control. But the memory of his touch, the way he made her feel alive, was too strong.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Joe stepped back, giving her space. "Think about it," he said gently. "I'll be waiting for you, whether you come tonight or not."

The rest of the day was a blur for Chelsea. Her mind raced with thoughts of Joe, their passionate encounters, and the life she had built with Terrence. She tried to focus on work, but her mind kept wandering. She knew that going to Joe's tonight was playing with fire, but she also knew that she was already burned. The flame between them had never truly been extinguished, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a candle.

When 8 PM rolled around, Chelsea found herself standing in front of Joe's house, her hand hovering over the doorbell. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. This was wrong, she thought. But then she remembered the emptiness she felt in her marriage, the lack of connection with Terrence, and the way Joe looked at her - like she was the only person in the world that mattered. She pushed the button and waited, her heart hammering in her chest. No going back now.

Joe answered the door, looking surprised yet pleased to see her. He was dressed casually, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her body as she took in the sight of him. "I wasn't sure you'd come," he said, stepping aside to let her in. The house was filled with the aroma of something delicious cooking, and Chelsea's stomach rumbled in response.

They sat in the cozy dining room, the candlelight flickering across their faces. The dinner was simple yet exquisite, a far cry from the fancy meals they'd shared before. As they ate, Chelsea felt a sense of ease she hadn't experienced in months, a comfort that was intoxicating. The conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on their hopes, fears, and the paths that had led them to this moment.

For the first time in a long time, she laughed—truly laughed—at a man's jokes. The candlelight danced in Joe's eyes as he told her a story from his college days when he played quarterback for the Ohio State University before giving it all up to support Gianna's culinary dreams. But as the night grew later, the conversation grew heavier, and the weight of their situation settled on the room.

"Why do you stay with him?" Joe asked, his voice low and intense. The question hung in the air like the last note of a heartbreaking melody. Chelsea looked down at her plate, her appetite lost amidst the swirl of emotions. She knew he was referring to Terrence, but the question was more about her than her husband. She took a sip of wine, buying time to formulate a response.

"Because it's what's expected," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My family, Terrence's family... they've all imposed their idea of what our marriage should look like to be perfect." She paused, looking into Joe's eyes, searching for understanding. "And what we have... on paper, it is perfect. Successful careers, a beautiful home, the potential to have beautiful, intelligent children." She paused again, her voice thickening with emotion. "When I first met him, I just knew that we'd be here. I knew that I had to marry him. Because he was exactly what was expected of me, you know? From a good family, studying to be a neurosurgeon, it was all so destined. I couldn't say no."

Joe reached across the table, placing his hand on hers. His touch sent a jolt through her, a reminder of the passion that had been missing from her life for so long. "I gave up a lot to marry Gianna. My dreams, my career... all for her restaurant. With the show, it's like we're back in high school again. Everyone loves us, everyone thinks we're the perfect couple." He squeezed her hand gently. "But it's all just an act. I can't remember the last time we talked about anything real. Anything that wasn't about the restaurant or her show."

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt, recognizing the echo of her own discontent in Joe's words. "So why do you stay?" she asked, repeating his question from earlier.

Joe's gaze drifted to the floor, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly at the skin on her hand. "Honestly, I don't know what the alternative is," he said, his voice thick with unspoken pain. "We broke up for a year when we were in college because of my football dreams, and she was so angry with me. Our moms, they were devastated. They’ve had our lives planned out since we started dating in high school."

Chelsea nodded, her own heart aching for him.

"I've spent my whole adult life making Gianna happy," Joe continued, his eyes returning to meet hers. "I gave up football. I make appearances on her show. I work in finance because it helps keep her restaurant afloat. And now..." He trailed off, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "Some days I can't even tell if we're together because we truly love each other or because we're afraid of what everyone else would say."

Chelsea felt a knot in her stomach tighten. She knew the feeling all too well. Her own marriage had become a performance, a dance of appearances and expectations. "It's like you're trapped with no way out," she murmured, her voice filled with a sadness she hadn't realized she felt.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air. Chelsea knew that she should pull her hand away, stand up, and leave. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned closer to Joe, her heart pounding in her chest.

"You wanna know something really fucked up?" Chelsea said, her voice laced with a mix of anger and desperation. Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sometimes, when I'm with Terrence, all I can think about is you. How you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you look at me." She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. "And then I hate myself for it. I'm supposed to love him, to only think about him, to only want him. But I can't."

Joe leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. "You don't have to justify how you feel, Chelsea," he murmured. "Gigi and I have been married for 11 years, and I feel like she barely knows me. But when you showed up on my doorstep, it was like the wind got knocked out of me. You're all I think about."

Their faces were so close that Chelsea could feel the warmth of his breath. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "But I don't know how to stop wanting this."

Joe reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he said softly. "But we can't keep pretending."

Their eyes held for a moment longer before Joe leaned in and kissed her, gentle but urgent. Chelsea's body responded immediately, her hand curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together as the heat between them ignited once more.

"Damn," Joe hissed under his breath, his hands holding Chelsea's face in his hands. His thumbs traced the line of her jaw as they broke the kiss, both of them panting. "I want you so badly."

"I know," she replied, her voice a ragged whisper. "This sucks."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their confessions thick in the air. Chelsea's heart pounded in her chest, the guilt she'd been feeling for months now mixed with something new—relief. It felt like a dam had burst, releasing all the pent-up emotion she'd been holding onto.

"So what do we do now?" Joe asked, his voice hoarse.

Chelsea looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and desire. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I guess we have to figure out where this goes. If we can keep it just between us. Just for the time being."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. "Okay," he said. "But I need to tell you something." He took a deep breath, his gaze intense. "I'm falling for you, Chelsea. I'm falling for you so hard, I'm gonna do something stupid if I can't have you."

Chelsea's stomach flipped. She didn't know what to say. Her heart raced, torn between the love she had for Terrence and the fiery passion she felt for Joe. She took a moment, looking into his eyes, searching for answers. Finally, she spoke. "So have me."

The words hung in the air, and Joe leaned in again, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands roamed down her body, pulling her closer until she was straddling him on the dining room chair. Chelsea moaned into his mouth, the sound echoing through the quiet house. They were lost in each other, their bodies moving in a dance of passion that had been building for so long.

As they kissed, their hands explored, pulling at clothes and unbuckling belts. The air was electric with tension, and the smell of their arousal filled the room. They managed to undress, Joe again reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a condom. They didn't bother moving to the couch this time; the chair was as good as anywhere. Chelsea wrapped her legs around him, and Joe pushed into her, both moaning desperately into each other's mouths.

The sex was raw and unbridled, fueled by their months of repressed desire. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through Chelsea's body, and she could feel Joe's need growing more intense with every second. They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, as if they'd been doing this for years. Joe gripped her hips tightly, guiding her movements, her hands tugged at his dark blonde hair, her nails digging into his scalp. There should have been a hint of shame in the way they were acting, but all Chelsea felt was a fierce craving that only Joe could satisfy.

The chair creaked under their weight, a symphony of passionate sounds that filled the room. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she threw her head back, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Joe's eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a mix of power and vulnerability. They were risking everything for this fleeting moment, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. The pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming.

As their pace grew frantic, Chelsea felt the familiar tightness in her core that signaled an approaching climax. She bit down on Joe's shoulder to muffle her cries, her nails digging deeper into his skin. He grunted in response, his hands pressing harsh marks into her skin, as if he was trying to imprint every detail of this moment into his mind. The tension grew, coiling tightly inside her until she couldn't hold back any longer. She came hard, her body shuddering around him, and Joe followed soon after, burying his face in her neck and groaning out his release.

They remained intertwined, panting and trembling, for several moments. Unlike the first time, however, Chelsea allowed herself to bask in the afterglow. Joe's arms were strong and warm around her, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that soothed her racing heart. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth of their combined sweat. The guilt was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind, but it was dulled by the overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

Joe eventually pulled out, and they both stood, his hands reaching for her in an effort to redress her, his touch gentle yet still searing into her skin. Chelsea felt a strange mix of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep-seated longing for more of what they had just shared. She allowed him to fix her clothes, her eyes watching his strong features, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But Joe's gaze remained steady, filled with a tenderness that she hadn't seen from Terrence in a long time.

"Thank you," Chelsea murmured as Joe tucked her shirt back into her pants, his hands lingering for a brief moment longer than necessary. The words felt strange in her mouth, a blend of gratitude and apology for what they had just done. He nodded, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip before dropping away.

They stepped out of the dining room, the air thick with their combined scents of arousal and the faint aroma of their lunch. Joe walked her to the door, his hand resting on the small of her back. As he opened it, Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The sun had set, casting a soft glow over the neighborhood. The sight of the quiet, suburban street was a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions raging within her.

"Wait," Joe said suddenly, his hand on her arm as she stepped onto the porch. "Come here. Gimme a kiss."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't resist. She leaned in, her body colliding with his, and kissed him with the same passion that had just consumed them. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things they hadn't yet said out loud—their magnetism, their fear, and the understanding that there was no going back.

As they parted, Joe whispered, "I'll see you soon, okay?" His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. With one final squeeze of her hand, he stepped back, allowing her to leave. Chelsea walked home, her mind racing with thoughts of Joe and what had just transpired. She knew that she couldn't continue down this path without consequences, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was already lost in it.

That evening, as Terrence returned from work, Chelsea tried to slip back into her position, fixing dinner and asking about his day. But every time she glanced at him, she saw Joe's face, heard his voice, felt his touch. The guilt was a heavy weight that she couldn't ignore, and she wondered if it would ever get easier. Terrence seemed oblivious, his eyes lighting up when she asked him about his surgeries and consultations, hoping it would keep him talking, and keep her from thinking about the man next door.

The next two months passed in a blur of work, stolen moments, secret lunch dates, and heated exchanges between Chelsea and Joe. Each time they saw each other, the tension grew thicker, a palpable electricity that neither could ignore. Chelsea found herself looking forward to the nights when Terrence was at the hospital, the quiet house providing the perfect cover for their clandestine meetings. They tried to keep things casual, but every touch, every whispered word, felt like a declaration of something much deeper.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, Chelsea received a text from Joe. "Can you come over?" it read. She felt a thrill of excitement and a stab of guilt. She knew she should say no, that she needed to end this before it spun further out of control, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Terrence was away, again, off to San Francisco for a medical conference, leaving her with an empty house and an empty bed.

Chelsea slipped into something less than business casual, opting for a short, floral sundress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She knew Joe liked it—he had told her so the last time they were together. With a quick spritz of perfume and a final look in the mirror, she stepped out of her house and into the mild summer evening. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant sound of the Chen's grandchildren running around in their backyard. She walked over to Joe's, her heart racing with every step.

When she arrived, he greeted her at the door with a smoldering look that sent her stomach into a frenzy. His tie was loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, showing a hint of the warm skin she had come to yearn for when she was away from him. "You look gorgeous," he murmured, pulling her into a kiss that was anything but friendly. Chelsea melted into him, letting his arms wrap around her and his hands roam her body. They stumbled into the living room, their kisses growing more desperate, as if they hadn't seen each other in years rather than mere days.

The dinner they had planned remained untouched, forgotten in the face of their overwhelming need for each other. They made their way upstairs, shedding their clothes along the way, leaving a trail of fabric that whispered their secrets through the quiet house. In the guest bedroom, Joe's large hands turned her around to face the mirror, pressing her against him as he kissed her neck. Chelsea could see their reflection, their bodies entwined, and the desire in their eyes as Joe's hands cupped her breasts, teasing her already hard nipples.

"I love watching you," Joe growled in her ear as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. Chelsea's breath hitched as his hands slid down her waist and around to the zipper of her dress. She felt the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she knew that she wanted him just as badly. They had been playing this dangerous game for months now, and the thrill of it had only grown stronger.

"You're so down bad, Joey," Chelsea teased, her voice breathless as she reached behind her to run her fingers through his hair. He smirked in the mirror, his eyes dark with need. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over their bodies.

"Call me that again," Joe responded playfully, his hand slipping down to her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Chelsea giggled, the sound a stark contrast to the heavy lust in the air.

"Joey?" Chelsea repeated with a grin, watching his expression in the mirror. "Is that what you want, baby?" She could feel his body tense with every word, his grip tightening slightly. "Want me to call you cute little names?"

"Chelsea," Joe groaned, his voice strained with restraint as he shook his head, blue eyes squeezing shut in concentration. "What do you want to call me?"

Chelsea leaned back into him, her eyes locked on their reflection. "Joey. Baby. Mine." The last word was a whisper, but it held the weight of their unspoken truth. He audibly swallowed, his hands moving to unzip her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but a matching set of skimpy, lace lingerie.

"Want me to be yours?" Joe murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She giggled, spinning around to face him. "I want a lot of things," she said, her voice low and seductive. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss. His hands slid over her body, exploring every inch of her soft curves, as they kissed with an urgency that had been building for months.

The room was filled with the sound of their breathless whispers and the rustling of clothing as they undressed each other. The tension was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and guilt that only made the moment feel more forbidden and exhilarating. They tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entangled as they explored each other with hungry kisses and roaming hands. Chelsea felt alive in a way she hadn't in years, her skin tingling with every touch from Joe's rough, calloused hands.

"Get on your stomach, face the mirror, baby," Joe ordered, his voice thick with desire. Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as she obeyed, the coolness of the silk sheets against her skin making her shiver. Joe's strong hands gripped her hips, positioning her just right so that she could see their reflection in the full-length mirror. He slid into her from behind, their eyes locking as he began to thrust, slow and deep.

One hand steadied himself on the curve where her back met her ass, the other hand gripping the plush of her hip. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely owned in the best way possible. Each thrust was a declaration of his possession, a silent shout of possession echoing in the quiet room. Her cheek pressed into the cool silk as she watched their reflection. He looked so commanding, so powerful, and she looked blissed out of her mind. Her eyes met his in the mirror, the blue of his burning into hers, and she could see the raw hunger there. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Tell me you want this," Joe murmured in her ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Say it."

"I want this," Chelsea whispered, the words escaping her in a rush. "I want you."

Joe's eyes darkened, a smoldering intensity in his gaze that made Chelsea's knees wobble. He leaned over her, a thumb reaching underneath to tease her clit as he whispered, "Say it louder."

With a gasp, Chelsea's voice grew stronger, "I want you, Joe."

The room seemed to vibrate with the weight of her admission, the words echoing through the silent house like a confession whispered in a hallowed space. Joe's hand slipped away from her throbbing core, his touch replaced by the coolness of the air. He leaned back on his heels, pulling Chelsea up with him so she was fully exposed in front of the mirror, her body quivering with need. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his chest pressing against her back as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She could feel his arousal leaking into the condom, warming her insides as he pushed into her, setting a rhythm that mirrored the erratic beat of her heart.

Their eyes locked in the reflection, a silent dance of passion and power that neither could deny. Chelsea's hands gripped his forearms as Joe's hands roamed her body, teasing her nipples, pressing into her needy clit. Her moans grew louder, filling the room as Joe's strokes grew more demanding. She felt the tension coiling in her belly, her orgasm approaching, unstoppable and exhilarating.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and surprise. "You make me feel so good, baby. So, so good."

Joe's grip tightened on her hips, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his own release. "You're fuckin' everything to me, Chelsea," he grunted, his voice strained. "Look at yourself. Look at us."

Chelsea's eyes remained glued to the mirror, watching Joe's face contort with pleasure as he claimed her body. His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of euphoria and trepidation. This wasn't just a casual fling anymore; it was love wrapped in a dark, illicit embrace. They climaxed together, their bodies trembling and skin slick with sweat.

They collapsed onto the bed, both trying to catch their breaths, their hearts beating in a chaotic symphony. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of their shared secret. Joe leaned back, his chest heaving, and for a moment, Chelsea allowed herself to believe that this was real, that they could somehow make this work.

"How do you manage to do that?" Chelsea panted, rolling onto her side to face Joe. "Every single time."

Joe smirked, tracing a finger along her jawline. "It's all you, darling," he said, his voice smoky. "You do this to me. You come around me and suddenly I'm like a man who hasn't had water in days."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of regret or doubt, but she only found hunger and adoration. It was intoxicating, a feeling she hadn't experienced with Terrence in a long time. The guilt of their infidelity was a constant presence, but in the throes of passion, it was a distant echo. They lay there, their bodies entwined, basking in the aftermath of their love-making. The scent of their desire lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of their connection.

They tore away from each other reluctantly, Chelsea needing to make a quick run to pick up dinner before Terrence returned from his shift. As she slipped into her clothes, Joe watched her with a sense of longing that made her heart ache. They'd agreed to keep this between them, but the cracks in their façade were starting to show.

"I'll text you later," Chelsea murmured, kissing him softly before slipping out the door. The pout on his lips almost drew her back in, his blue eyes clouded over with sadness as she left. She stepped into the cool evening air, trying to ignore the feeling that she was leaving a part of herself behind.

Her mind raced as she drove to a local Italian spot. How had it come to this? She'd never been the type to cheat, had never even thought about it. Yet here she was, carrying the weight of a love affair she didn't know how to end. Her phone buzzed with a message from Joe, a simple "I miss you already," that sent a warmth through her chest she hadn't felt in years. She replied with, "I'll see you soon. Promise," and forced herself to focus on the mundane task of picking up dinner.

When she got home, Terrence was already there, the smell of antiseptic lingering. He greeted her with a squeeze to her arm and took the bag of food from her hand. As they sat down to eat, that pesky sense of apathy spread through her chest. She didn't want to be here, with him, going through the motions of a loveless marriage. Her thoughts drifted back to Joe, and she felt a pang of regret for what she'd left behind.

"Did you hear me?" Terrence's voice pulled Chelsea back to reality. He was looking at her expectantly, a question hanging in the air. She realized she'd been lost in thought, her eyes glazed over, staring into the distance.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she replied, snapping out of her Joe-induced trance.

Terrence raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mix of concern and annoyance. "I don't know why I bother sometimes," he muttered under his breath. "I said I might be promoted to head of the Neurosurgery department. It's longer hours, but that's why we moved here. So we can both achieve our dreams."

Chelsea's eyebrows furrowed, an unsavory sense of irony coating her tongue as she responded, "More hours? Terrence you worked 90 hours last week, how many more can you possibly take on?"

"It's what I have to do to be the best," he said, noticing the weariness in her voice. "What about you? Any big cases coming up?"

"Don't change the subject on me, Terrence. How effective could you possibly be when you're working almost 100 hours a week?" Chelsea retorted, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. She had been trying to bring this up for months, but he always had a new excuse or a new goal to pursue. She was never her husband's priority.

Terrence sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers for a brief moment before he turned away to grab a beer from the fridge. "You know I have to make my mark," he said, his back to her. "It takes hard work to be the best."

Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she watched him, the coldness in her marriage starkly highlighted against the heat of her secret affair with Joe. "Yeah, I know," she murmured, trying to push down the resentment bubbling up. "But you're never home. You don't eat well, you don't sleep enough, and you're always stressed. That's not good for you and it's not good for your patients. What's the point of being the best if you can't even enjoy it?"

Terrence paused, his hand hovering over the fridge handle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, do you, Chelsea?" he said finally. "This isn't just about me. It's about our legacy, what we leave behind."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, feeling a surge of anger. "Oh, please. Legacy, huh? You know what our legacy is looking like right now? A tired, burnt-out doctor with a lonely, lawyer wife. Is that really what you want?" Terrence didn't answer, instead popping the cap on his beer and taking a long gulp.

"Does everything have to be about you, Chelsea?" Terrence said, his voice tight with frustration. "If you had a real, life or death job, maybe you'd understand. But you go drinking with celebrities and throw parties when someone signs their name on a dotted line. You don't know what real work is, Chelsea."

The room grew colder with each word, and Chelsea felt a sting of anger. She had worked hard to get where she was in the field, and she wasn't about to let him belittle her. "I'll tell you what's real work," she shot back, her voice rising. "It's trying to keep a marriage afloat when my husband is more in love with his career than he is with me. It's real work pretending to be satisfied with a man who can't even bother to make time for me! It's real work covering for you when your mother calls me every afternoon asking why you haven't spoken to her in a month!"

Terrence slammed the beer bottle on the counter, the sound echoing through the kitchen. "You think this is easy for me?" he yelled. "I'm trying to make a difference here, trying to be more than just another man with a fancy title! I'm doing this for you, Chelsea. For us!"

Chelsea's eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to him. "Don't you dare say you're doing this for us. You're doing this for yourself and your ego! You haven't thought of me since we left our honeymoon. As a matter of fact, Terrence, tell me something. What's the name of my firm?"

Terrence's jaw tightened as he stared at her, unable to answer. The silence between them was deafening.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her chest heaving as her eyes began to cloud with tears. "Do you know what's pathetic?" she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "It's that I can't even be mad at you for not knowing the name of my firm. Because I've become so used to being second best in your eyes. I've accepted that your work comes first. That your success has to come at the cost of our marriage."

Terrence looked at her, his expression a mix of shock and pain. "Chelsea," he started, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Don't," she said, jerking away. "Don't touch me." She turned away from him, her eyes landing on the fridge, where their wedding photo stared back at her. They looked so happy then, so full of hope and promise. Now, it felt like a lie.

Terrence's silence was deafening as he took in her words. He knew she was unhappy, but he had always thought it was just a phase. That her passion would return once the dust of their new life in Cincinnati had settled. But now, hearing it laid out so starkly, he was forced to confront the truth.

"Chelsea," he finally managed, his voice thick with regret. "You know I love you. You're everything to me."

"No, I'm not, Terrence." she said firmly, her voice steadying. "If I was, you'd know what I do for a living. You'd know that my work isn't 'drinking with celebrities', you'd know that I was just going through the motions. That every day feels like I'm drowning in a sea of your ambition."

He took a step towards her, but she held up her hand. "Don't. You don't get to fix this with your charm. This isn't just about tonight."

Terrence stopped in his tracks, the weight of his wife's words sinking in. "If that's what you think of me, what could I possibly do to change your mind, huh? After everything I've given you?"

Chelsea faced him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not doing this with you, Terrence. After a full day of drinking with celebrities, I'm exhausted." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she turned on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Terrence standing there, feeling more lost than ever before.

The days that followed were tense and fraught with unspoken tension. Terrence tried to make amends, bringing her flowers—notably, the wrong ones—and making grand romantic gestures, but Chelsea remained distant, her heart and mind elsewhere. Her thoughts swirled with Joe's touch, his whispers, and the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the world that mattered. At work, she threw herself into her cases, finding refuge in the cutthroat world where the only battles she could control were the ones she waged on paper.

When Terrence announced that Joe invited him, and a few of the other guys in the neighborhood, to go golfing the next weekend, Chelsea couldn't even bring herself to care.

The day of the golf trip dawned bright and early. Terrence was practically bouncing out the door, eager to bond with his new neighbor and escape the suffocating silence that had settled over their marriage. Chelsea watched him go with a mix of resentment and relief. As the door clicked shut behind him, she felt the weight of their unresolved issues crash down on her, but she quickly shoved the thoughts aside, focusing instead on her plans to spend the day with her friends, popcorn and wine.

The green of the gold course stretched out before them, the crisp spring air carrying the faint scent of freshly trimmed grass. Terrence felt a strange sense of relief as he swung his club, sending the small white ball soaring into the sky. The conversation between the men was light, mostly about their jobs and the neighborhood gossip. Joe was completely carefree, his Cartier sunglasses reflecting the sun's rays. Terrence couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at how relaxed he looked, especially knowing that Joe's job required so much less of him than his own demanding career.

"Chelsea's been on my ass about my hours this past week," Terrence complained, taking a sip from his water bottle as they approached the next hole. "It's like she thinks I don't give a shit about our marriage."

Joe's grip tightened around his golf club, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Well, you know what they say, work is the best form of birth control," he quipped, watching Terrence's face fall. "But in all seriousness, man, marriage isn't easy. Sometimes you've got to make sacrifices for the girl you love."

Terrence nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of Chelsea. "Yeah, I know. I just... I don't know. The last time we had sex, she straight up couldn't orgasm. It's like she's not even into it anymore." He took a swing, the ball soaring through the air in a perfect arc before landing on the green.

Bryan, one of the other golfers, chuckled cruelly. "Maybe she's taking care of herself, man." The lewd remark hung in the air, gaining a few snickers from the group.

Terrence shook his head grumbling, "Chelsea? Nah, she's too... I don't know, too classy for that." He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his water, reaching in the cooler for a beer instead.

Joe felt a strange mix of guilt and triumph at Terrence's words. "Classy or not, everyone has needs," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Inside, his mind reeled with the memory of Chelsea's cries of pleasure just a few nights ago. He knew all too well the passion she kept hidden from her husband.

"See, if that was me, Chelsea wouldn't be able to think about leaving the bedroom. They'd have to do a wellness check on her to see if she was alright," Chris, another one of the golfers, chimed in, slapping Terrence on the back.

Terrence's eyes narrowed slightly, the conversation suddenly taking a turn he wasn't expecting. "I know, I know." He took a sip of his beer. "We used to be like that when Chelsea was in college." He chuckled, but Joe didn't miss the hint of sadness in his voice. It was the same sadness Chelsea had confessed to feeling in their own relationship.

"Maybe it's just stress," Joe offered, trying to keep his tone light despite the dark thoughts swirling in his head. "The move, the new job, all that can really mess with someone's head." He knew it wasn't just stress. He had felt it in her touch, heard it in her moans when they were together. The desperation and craving for something more.

"Personally, I don't think I've ever seen you even think about tapping that ass," Bryan, one of Terrence's golfing buddies, chimed in, nudging Terrence with a laugh. "Not even a kiss. Terrence, you gotta do better."

Joe's jaw clenched, the comment hitting too close to home. He shot a warning glare at Bryan, who shrugged it off, oblivious to the tension he had just stirred up. Chris, the more foul-mouthed of the two spoke up again, "I'm telling you, if she was mine, she'd be begging for it every night."

Terrence's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he replied, "Alright, alright. Remember this is my wife we're talkin' about? Joe, you got any advice? Gianna's always skipping around all happy, I'm sure you've got some moves."

Joe's heart thumped in his chest. He felt like he was being goaded, and his mind raced with the desire to reveal all. Instead, he took a deep breath and replied, "Nah, man. I've only ever been with Gianna long-term, so I wouldn't know what to tell you." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew the truth was too explosive to share.

The golf game continued, but Joe's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't help but think of the times Chelsea had whispered sweet nothings in his ear, her nails digging into his skin as she climaxed. The way she looked at him with a mix of adoration and hunger was something Terrence would never know. Despite the guilt, Joe felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

Back at the office, Chelsea was busy wrapping up a case when her phone buzzed with a text from Joe. "You have fans," it read. She raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding the context. He followed up with a, "Your husband's golf buddies talked about you a lot today." A chill ran down her spine, and she felt a strange mix of anger and arousal. She texted back, "What did they say?"

Joe's response was succinct. "Doesn't matter. They'll never get to hear your pretty voice moan for my cock." The possessive undertone was unmistakable, sending a jolt of excitement through Chelsea's body. She quickly put her phone away, trying to compose herself before her colleagues noticed her flustered state. She was torn between the thrill of Joe's claim and the fear of their secret being exposed.

Chelsea stepped out of her downtown office building, the cool breeze of Cincinnati's early autumn brushing against her cheeks. The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery across the street filled her nose, momentarily distracting her from the mountain of work emails waiting for her attention. She took a deep breath, letting the aroma mingle with the exhaust from the passing cars. It was a peculiar blend, but somehow Cincinnati was starting to feel more and more like home.

Though she was sure Joe had a lot to do with that, Chelsea couldn't ignore the comfort she felt when she thought of the city now. The two of them had been sneaking around for nearly five months, finding moments of stolen intimacy amidst their chaotic schedules. They had become experts at choosing the most discreet locations, the quietest times of the day, and the most unassuming town cars to keep their affair under wraps. As she walked towards their usual spot, a cozy Italian restaurant tucked away from prying eyes, Chelsea felt her heart race in anticipation of their lunch date.

Once a week, Chelsea and Joe met for lunch at the Italian restaurant. The hostess knew them by name and always reserved the same booth at the back, the one with the slightly faded red velvet seats that had seen better days but somehow added to the intimate charm of their secret rendezvous. The restaurant was typically empty this time of day, with a disinterested college student working the register and a tired-looking, middle aged chef peeking out from the kitchen. A soft murmur of Italian jazz would play, providing a backdrop to their stolen conversations. By this point, Chelsea knew the rotation of songs almost by heart.

Joe was already waiting, his tall frame bent slightly over the menu he always pretended to need to read. He was stubborn, alternating between his usual Margherita pizza and the chicken parmesan sandwich, but Chelsea knew he had it all memorized by heart. She slid into the booth opposite him, her eyes lingering on the strong line of his jaw, the way his tie was just loose enough to show a hint of the collarbone she was sure had a fading love bite where the bone met his shoulder.

"Hey, you," Joe said, looking up with a smile that never failed to make her stomach flutter.

Chelsea returned his smile, sliding the menu aside as she delicately placed her purse on the seat beside her. "Hi," she whispered, her voice soft and warm. "How was your morning?"

Joe leaned back, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one of importance was within earshot. "The same as always," he replied with a hint of weariness. "Just trying to keep up with the numbers and the egos."

Chelsea nodded sympathetically. She knew the type; the kind of people who thought the world revolved around their next big deal or their latest acquisition. "Wish I could make it easier for you," she said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her wedding band felt heavy on her left ring finger, a constant reminder of the life she had chosen, or rather, the one that had chosen her.

Joe took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You do," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "More than you know."

Their conversation today was different from their usual lightness. There was a weight in the air, a heaviness that neither of them could shake off. It was as if the walls of their secret hideaway had grown thin, threatening to expose them at any moment. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she wondered if Joe was feeling the same way she was: trapped in a life that didn't quite fit.

"I've been thinking," Joe began, his eyes searching hers. "About us, I mean."

The words hung in the air like a question unasked. Chelsea felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "What about us?" she prodded, her voice steady despite the tumult in her chest.

Joe took a deep breath, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I can't help but wonder if things might've been different if we had waited, if we hadn't married so young." His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of agreement or a spark of hope. "It's funny, I feel like a dumbass whenever I think that if I had just waited, I could've found you."

Chelsea felt the air thicken as the gravity of his words settled between them. The what-ifs of life had always been a silent companion to their secret affair, but today, they were speaking louder than ever. "I know," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the table. "I've been thinking about that too."

The waiter arrived, a young man with a crooked smile and a notepad at the ready. They ordered their usual, the routine comforting in its predictability. As he retreated, Joe leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble. "Did I tell you much about my family?"

Chelsea tilted her head, trying to recall any details beyond the fact that he had worked hard to support them. "Not really," she said, intrigued.

Joe's eyes took on a distant look as he spoke about his childhood in a small town in southeastern Ohio. His parents had been high school sweethearts, just like he and Gianna, but they had struggled to make ends meet. His father had coached at the junior college while his mother held down two jobs to keep their heads above water. He had two older brothers, both of whom had moved away to escape the shadow of their hometown's limitations.

"They had big dreams for me," Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. "They pushed me to do better, to be better."

Chelsea nodded, understanding the unspoken burden of parental expectations all too well. "And football was your way out?"

Joe's smile was bittersweet. "Yeah, it was. I was okay at it. Nothing special, I had a couple of offers but I didn't want to be too far from my parents or Gianna. So I chose Ohio State, thinking I'd keep playing, maybe make it to the NFL." His eyes grew darker with the memory. "But Gianna was already set on becoming a chef, and she had this opportunity in New York to work under a big name. I couldn't ask her to wait for me."

Their food arrived, the warm scents of cheese and marinara sauce briefly interrupting the flow of their conversation. They picked at their plates, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea listened intently, her heart aching for the sacrifices Joe had made. Her own family had mapped out her life from birth: the right schools, the right job, the right husband. Terrence had been the perfect package, but she had never felt like she had made the choice.

"So what happened?" she asked softly.

Joe took a bite of his pizza, the cheese stretching like an elastic band before breaking with a satisfying snap. "I quit football," he said, swallowing before continuing. "I figured if I couldn't have it all, I'd focus on making sure Gianna got what she wanted. I transferred to NYU to be with her. That's when I started getting serious about finance. I figured if I couldn't throw a ball for a living, I might as well find another way to make some real money."

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Chelsea reached across the table, her hand resting gently on his forearm. "It wasn't a complete loss," she said, trying to ease the tension. "Look at you now, CFO of a Fortune 500 company. I'm sure your family's proud of you."

Joe nodded, but his eyes remained clouded. "They are," he admitted. "But it's not the same. I gave up something I loved for… for what? A marriage that feels more like a business deal every day?" He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the window where passersby walked in pairs, oblivious to the turmoil inside the restaurant. "Gianna's always been the star, you know? And I've just… I've just been her plus-one, the guy who writes the checks and makes sure she's happy."

Chelsea's heart twisted at the raw honesty in Joe's voice. She knew all too well the feeling of being an accessory to someone else's ambition. "You said you retired both yours and Gianna's parents, right? That's a big deal, Joe," she offered, trying to remind him of his worth beyond his marriage.

He nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich. "It is," he said, his voice devoid of the pride she knew should accompany such an achievement. "But it's like… I don't know. Like I've spent my whole life doing what everyone else wanted, and now…" His voice trailed off as he took a sip of his water, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "I just don't know if I have anything left for myself."

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt for her part in adding to Joe's burdens. "What about you?" he asked, his gaze back on her. "What would you have done if you weren't married to Terrence?"

She took a moment to consider the question, the weight of the words sitting heavily on her tongue. "I don't think I've ever really considered any alternative, honestly," she said, her eyes meeting his. "My parents had my life mapped out for me from the day I was born. They picked out everything. The perfect name, the perfect schools, the perfect career, and of course, the perfect husband. If it wasn't Terrence, it would've been someone just like him."

Joe leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "You were pretty young when the two of you got seriou-"

"I was a sophomore in undergrad," Chelsea interrupted, the words spilling out like a confession. "Terrence was in medical school, already the golden boy of our families. He was charming, ambitious, same frat as my Dad, everything my parents wanted for me. They didn't even blink an eye when he proposed on my birthday less than a year after we met. It was like they had been waiting for it."

Joe nodded, understanding the weight of familial expectations. "And do you think you'd have chosen differently?" His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of regret or perhaps a hint of a road not taken.

Chelsea's gaze fell to the breadsticks on the table, her mind racing back to those college days filled with hope and promise. "I don't know," she said finally. "Maybe. But by the time I realized I didn't love him the way they wanted me to, it was too late. I was standing at the altar, reciting vows I didn't even believe in. Just holding my breath, hoping someone would stand up and shout their objections."

Joe reached across the table and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You can't change the past," he said gently. "But you can decide what you want for the future."

Chelsea nodded, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I know," she said, her voice wavering. "It's just hard to imagine a life without Terrence, without the life my parents worked so hard to set up for me. Anytime I try to imagine something different, it feels like I'm betraying them, like I'm throwing it all away."

Joe squeezed her hand tighter. "What do you think you'd be doing if you weren't married to Terrence?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. "I'd probably still be in law," she said after a moment. "But maybe I'd be dabbling in politics, like I always talked about in college. Or maybe I'd start my own firm, one that focused on helping people who couldn't afford representation."

Joe's eyes lit up with genuine interest. Pausing to think as he observed the way Chelsea's eyes sparkled with the thought of a life untethered from her current reality.

"What about you?" Chelsea asked, eager to shift the focus. "What would you be doing if you weren't married to Gianna?"

Joe's gaze grew distant, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd probably still be in finance," he said. "But I'd be traveling more, see the world." He chuckled, a sound that was a rare treat in their secret meetups. "But more importantly, I'd be taking chances, you know? Investing in little start-ups with potential instead of playing it safe."

Their conversation grew quieter, their food forgotten as they shared more of themselves than they ever had before. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in around them, insulating them from the outside world and the lives they had left at the door.

"Joe," Chelsea began, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want from this?" She searched his eyes, desperate for an answer that could give her clarity in the chaos of their situation.

Joe took a moment to consider, his thumb still tracing circles on her hand. "I want to be happy," he said finally. "I want what everyone wants, I guess. To love and be loved in return. To feel like I'm living my own life."

The words hung in the air like a confession, and for a moment, Chelsea felt like she could see right through to his soul. "What does that mean for us?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the clinking of silverware and the muffled conversations of other patrons.

Joe took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't want you to feel trapped, Chelsea. I want you to be able to explore those things you've always talked about. If we can help each other find happiness, maybe that's enough for now."

Chelsea felt a tear slip down her cheek. "It's just…" she began, her voice cracking. "I've never felt like I could disappoint my family. They've given me so much, and I owe them so much."

Joe leaned in, his voice gentle. "But what about what you owe to yourself?"

Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a reflection of the same yearning she felt. "I just don't know how to do that without letting them down," she confessed. "My identity is so tied up in being the successful daughter, the perfect wife. What happens when I'm just… Chelsea?"

Joe's smile was kind, understanding. "You're more than that already," he said. "But I get it. Sometimes it feels like we're all just playing roles, huh?"

The waiter refilled their water glasses, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation happening in the dimly lit corner booth. Chelsea nodded, taking a sip to gather her thoughts. "To this day, I slip up and forget that I'm 'Mrs. Brooks' and not 'Miss Hayes'." She chuckled sadly. "It's like I'm watching someone who looks like me live a life I didn't choose."

Joe leaned in closer, his voice low and earnest. "I was just Joey Burrow, the kid who could throw a football pretty good. But then I became 'Gianna's husband' and I wonder if I lost myself in that transition." His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding. "I know we can't change who we are or where we come from, but maybe we can start making choices that feel more like us."

Chelsea nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. "It's just…" she began, her voice trailing off. "What if we make the wrong choice?"

Joe's expression grew solemn. "There's no way to know," he said. "But I'd rather live with the regret of a risk taken than the regret of a life never lived. Gianna and I haven't been happy for a long time. I keep telling myself it's for the sake of stability, for Gianna's brand, but the truth is, I've been living for her happiness, not my own." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm tired of pretending."

Chelsea felt a lump form in her throat. The honesty in Joe's voice was stark and raw, mirroring her own thoughts. "Terrence still doesn't know what it is I do all day," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "He's so caught up in his own world, he doesn't see me. I'm just another trophy for him to show off to his colleagues and family."

Joe nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. "We both know what it's like to be someone else's accessory." He took another deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say next. "But I'm not going to lie to you, Chels. Being with you…it's the first time in a long time I've felt like myself again. It's refreshing. You're refreshing."

Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. "I feel the same way," she confessed.

"Then maybe," Joe began, his voice hopeful, "we could start making choices that lead to us being happy. Together."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, the implication of his words sinking in. The thought of being with Joe, openly and without fear of judgment, was both terrifying and exhilarating. She took a moment to process, her mind racing with the consequences and the potential joy that could come from such a choice.

"I've been holding off on saying this," Joe continued, reaching for his water after he quickly glanced at his watch. "But I love you. I know it's crazy, given the circumstances, but I think I have for a while now."

Chelsea's breath caught in her throat. Love? That was a word she hadn't dared to entertain in the context of their affair. She felt the weight of their secret pressing down on her, the fear of the consequences of admitting such a powerful emotion. But when she looked into Joe's eyes, she saw something that she hadn't seen in a very long time: genuine affection, untainted by duty or expectation.

"Joe," she said, her voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. "That's… I'm not sure how to respond to that."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of his confession. "You don't have to say it back," he said quickly. "I just wanted you to know. I need you to know that this isn't just about the physical stuff for me. You're more than that. You're the only one who gets it, who gets me."

The air grew thick with the unspoken words hanging between them. Chelsea felt the weight of his love like a warm blanket, comforting yet suffocating. She had never allowed herself to believe that someone could love her beyond her status or her marriage to Terrence. But Joe was different; he saw the real her, the woman buried beneath the layers of expectations and responsibilities.

"I… I love you too, Joe. I didn't know how to say it," Chelsea admitted, her voice trembling. The words felt strange on her lips, but also incredibly right. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was lying to herself or to someone else. "But I'm sure I do. You feel right."

Joe's smile grew, a warm light in the dim restaurant. He reached across the table and took both of her hands in his. "I know we're in a tough spot, Chelsea," he said, his voice earnest. "But I want us to find a way to be happy together. To build a life that's ours, not anyone else's."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all she saw was a man who had found something precious in her, something she hadn't realized she had lost until she saw it reflected in his gaze. Casting a quick glance around the empty restaurant, Chelsea leaned in, cupping Joe's face in her hands to kiss him. It was a soft, lingering kiss filled with a promise of a future she had never dared to dream of.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence was deafening. The realization of their confession settled over them like a warm blanket, both comforting and suffocating. "I need to get back to the office," Joe said, his voice husky with emotion.

Chelsea nodded, her eyes still locked on his. "Me too," she said, the gravity of their conversation still weighing heavily on her. They both knew that their lunch break was over, but the world outside the restaurant felt foreign and daunting.

They gathered their things and Joe helped her with her coat, his hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary on her arm. As they stepped out into the cold Cincinnati afternoon, the reality of their situation crashed down on them like a wave. They walked side by side, their hands brushing but not quite touching, the air between them charged with a tension that was no longer just sexual.

"I'll see you next week," Joe said, his voice a mix of hope and resignation. "It's about seven days too long, but I'll take what I can get."

Chelsea nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Seven days," she echoed, the number feeling both endless and insignificant. They stood outside the restaurant, the chilly breeze a stark contrast to the warmth they had shared inside.

"Yeah," Joe said, his eyes searching hers. "You'll text me when you get back to the firm?"

"I will," Chelsea promised, her hand reaching for her phone to ensure it was still there. The cold air stung her cheeks, reminding her of the world waiting outside their bubble. "And Joe…" she called out as he started to walk away. He turned back to her, the wind ruffling his dirty blonde hair. "Thank you."

Joe stopped in his tracks, his breath puffing out from his lips as he mouthed, "I love you," before turning back around. Chelsea watched him disappear into the crowd of people, feeling a pang of something akin to teenaged infatuation. As she walked towards her office, she couldn't shake the feeling that their lunch had irrevocably changed things. The weight of their confessions hung heavy in the air, a secret they both now had to carry.

The next month, Chelsea was whisked off to a work trip in Dayton. Her job required her to be there for a few days, and as much as she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept wandering back to Joe. She missed the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel alive again. On the second night of her trip, she found herself in her hotel room, alone with nothing but room service and a bottle of wine for company. The silence was deafening, and she couldn't ignore the ache between her legs that Joe so effortlessly satisfied.

Manicured fingertips reached for her phone, tapping on Joe's contact with a sense of urgency. "Miss me?" he answered, his voice deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey. Chelsea bit her lip, her heart racing as she whispered into the phone, "I need to see you."

"Aren't you in Dayton this week?" Joe's voice held a hint of surprise.

"And?" Chelsea challenged, biting at her bottom lip. She could almost see the heave of his chest as he sighed through the phone. Suppressing a giggle, she waited for his response.

"Goddammit, Chelsea," Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Send me the address, I'll be there in 45."

"Joey, it's an hour drive," Chelsea protested, her voice a blend of excitement and caution.

"I'll do it in 40, don't argue with me," Joe said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Just send me the damn address before I lose my mind."

The anticipation grew as Chelsea sent him the details, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline. She took a quick shower to wash off the day's stress and slipped into a lazy pair of Calvin Kleins. The minutes ticked by like hours until finally, she heard the door to her hotel room click open. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes widening at the sight of Joe in a crisp suit, looking like a man on a mission.

"I came straight from work," Joe said, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. He dropped his briefcase and shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing his broad shoulders and the muscular physique Chelsea craved. She stepped into his arms, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he'd been starving for her taste. Their kiss was desperate, hungry, and filled with the kind of passion that could never be contained within their marriages.

The room was suffocating with the scent of their desire as they tugged at each other's clothes, needing to feel skin on skin. Joe's hands were everywhere, tracing the contours of Chelsea's body with a familiarity that sent shivers down her spine. They stumbled backward to the bed, tearing away the barriers between them, leaving a trail of fabric scattered across the floor.

"So fuckin' needy for me, begging me to drive an hour just to fuck you?" Joe whispered in her ear as he pulled her closer, his hands cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Chelsea felt a thrill of arousal at his words, biting her lip to hold back a moan. He carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto the soft hotel comforter. He stepped back and took a moment to admire her, his eyes raking over her naked body as if she were a feast laid out just for him.

"Bless me," Chelsea murmured, her eyes locked on Joe's as he undid his tie with purposeful strokes. She watched as each button of his shirt came undone, revealing his chest, his abs, the V of muscle that pointed down to the bulge in his trousers. He stepped closer, kicking off his shoes and dropping his pants. He was already hard for her, and the sight made her wetter.

"You're so beautiful," Joe said, his voice thick with desire. He climbed onto the bed and claimed her mouth again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her feel alive. He kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and Chelsea arched her back, eager for his touch. His mouth found her clit, and she gasped as he flicked his tongue against it, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Joe's skilled hands worked their magic as he brought her to the edge, her moans growing louder with each stroke. Chelsea's fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, her hips bucking against his mouth. She felt herself falling apart, her orgasm building like a crescendo. And when it hit, she screamed his name, her body convulsing with pleasure.

He slid up her body and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss, the taste of her own desire on his lips. Chelsea wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him into her. He filled her completely, stretching her with his thickness. They moved together in a rhythm that was both familiar and new, a dance of passion and need that transcended their marriages. The sounds of their skin slapping together melded with their gasps and moans, echoing in the quiet hotel room.

It was uninhibited, raw, and absolutely everything Chelsea had been craving. With every thrust, Joe seemed to claim a piece of her she hadn't realized she had been holding back. She clawed at his back, her nails digging in as she matched his intensity. They moved as one, their breaths mingling in the air, their hearts beating a tempo of pure desire. The room was filled with the scent of their passion, the heat from their bodies raising the temperature of the space.

"I think you enjoy this too much," Joe murmured, his breath hot against Chelsea's ear as he drove into her.

"You think?" she quipped, her voice thick with sarcasm.

He smirked, his blue eyes piercing hers. "I know."

The truth of his words stung, but she didn't refute them. Instead, she pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him and taking control. She set the pace now, her hips rolling and grinding against him, drawing out every delicious sensation. Joe's hands found her breasts, teasing and playing as she rode him, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.

"What? You want me to feel guilty about enjoying this?" Chelsea challenged, her voice low and husky as she rocked her hips against Joe's. "Want me to feel guilty—fuck, yes—about the way you get me so wet, so hot, so—" she gasped as he sank his teeth into the soft skin of her neck, "—so fucking desperate to feel you inside me?"

Joe's eyes darkened at her words, his grip on her hips tightening. "I could never ask you to feel guilty about that, baby. I know he isn't giving you what you need."

Chelsea moaned at his words, her hips moving faster as she neared another peak. "And her?" she panted, needing to hear him acknowledge it. "You ever fuck her like this?"

Joe's expression grew serious. "No, never." He reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "I haven't touched her in months, baby. Not since I first saw you."

The confession sent a thrill through Chelsea's body, and she leaned down to kiss him hard, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she rode him with a newfound urgency. The truth was a heady aphrodisiac, making her feel even more alive and desired. She didn't want to think about the consequences or the pain they were causing. Right now, all that mattered was Joe's cock filling her up and the sound of their skin slapping together.

"I love you, Joey," Chelsea murmured against his lips, the words slipping out as he began to buck up into her.

He stilled beneath her, his eyes searching hers. "You can't just drop that shit, Chelsea," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to hold off his climax. "You know what that does to me."

Chelsea felt a surge of power, her heart racing as she leaned back slightly to look down at him. "You're all I think about. I love you." Her words were like a drug, pushing him closer to the edge. He groaned, his hands clutching her hips, and she knew she had him.

"Fuck," Joe growled, his eyes snapping open. "I love you too. So much it scares me." His hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as he began to thrust up into her. The room was filled with their desperate moans and gasps, their bodies moving in a symphony of passion that neither of them had ever felt before.

Their lovemaking grew more intense, the emotions bubbling up inside of them fueling the fire between them. They were no longer just two people caught in a moment of passion; they were two souls confessing their love in the most primal of ways. Chelsea felt her orgasm building, her entire body tightening around Joe as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

"Chelsea," he moaned, his voice thick with lust and love. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she knew he was close too. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. It was all she needed. With a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain, she shuddered around him, her muscles clenching as she came hard.

Joe watched her, his own climax following close behind, his eyes never leaving hers. They held onto each other tightly as they rode the waves of pleasure, their breathing heavy and erratic. When it was over, Chelsea collapsed on top of him, her body feeling boneless and satisfied. They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in unison, their limbs tangled together.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he kissed her forehead. "I know," he murmured, understanding the unspoken question in her eyes. They had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed, and now they had to deal with the consequences.

The silence was heavy as they both thought about the future of their affair. The hotel room felt like a sanctuary, a bubble where the outside world couldn't touch them. But reality waited just beyond the door, and they both knew it couldn't last forever.

Joe pulled her closer, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "I know it's not my place to say, but maybe it's time to think about what you really want," he murmured. "You deserve to be happy, Chelsea. If you want something different, if you want more from your marriage, you should take it. Whether it's with me or not, I just want you to be happy."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a genuine concern that she hadn't seen in a long time from Terrence. She knew Joe was right, but the weight of expectations and the fear of losing what she had built was too much. She leaned her forehead against his, whispering, "If I pull the trigger, everything changes. Our families, our reputations, our lives."

"But if you don't," Joe countered, "are you just going to keep living like this?" His voice was soft, but the question hit hard. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach, acknowledging the truth in his words.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love, fear, and indecision. "I don't know what's going to happen," she admitted. "But I can't keep lying to them, Joe. And I can't keep lying to myself. I love you, but I'm terrified."

Joe kissed her gently. "I know, and I'm scared too. But we can't keep going on like this. We need to make a choice." He held her tightly, feeling her warmth, her heart racing against his chest. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the unspoken truth of what lay ahead.

The Dayton trip came and went, leaving Chelsea fluttering from room to room, preparing her home for her parents' first visit to Cincinnati. She was a tornado of emotions, trying to keep her thoughts from drifting back to Joe and the love they'd confessed in that hotel room. She knew she needed to keep up appearances, especially with her mother's keen eye for detail.

The doorbell chimed, pulling her out of her reverie, and she took a deep breath, pasting on a smile before opening the door. Her parents swept in, her mother's arms wide as she greeted her with a tight hug. "Look at you, living the dream," she said, her voice filled with pride. Chelsea's father nodded in approval, shaking Terrence's hand firmly.

The four of them sat down for dinner, the tension palpable as they made small talk. When the doorbell rang, Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She excused herself, expecting it to be a delivery or a neighbor. To her shock, it was Gianna and Joe. The celebrity chef was holding a bottle of wine, her perfectly manicured hand outstretched. "I saw your parents flew in. Thought we'd pop by," she said, her smile bright and genuine. Chelsea managed to keep her cool, inviting them inside.

Joe's gaze lingered on Chelsea, a silent apology in his eyes. She knew he could feel the electricity between them, the secret they shared threatening to crackle into the open. Terrence was oblivious, chuckling at something Joe said about golf as they settled into the living room. Naturally, Gianna dazzled everyone with stories of her latest television appearances and culinary adventures. Chelsea's parents were delightfully entertained, nodding along and sharing their own tales with their daughter's neighbors.

As the evening progressed, Chelsea's mother stood, requesting her daughter join her in the kitchen for a brief moment. None the wiser, Chelsea followed, trying to play it cool despite the knowledge that Joe was likely watching her leave.

In the kitchen, her mother's eyes searched hers, a stern look replacing her earlier smile. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chelsea," she whispered, the clinking of glasses from the living room a stark contrast to the gravity of her words.

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. "Momma? What are you talking about?" she replied, feigning ignorance as she reached for a glass of water to steady her nerves.

Her mother leaned in closer, her voice low. "I've never seen you look at a man like that before, not even Terrence, the man who's supposed to be your husband. What are you doing with that man, baby?"

Chelsea froze, attempting to collect herself before responding. "Momma, I don't know what you think you saw, but nothing is happening. He's just a neighbor." She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth.

Her mother's gaze was unwavering. "Chelsea, I've been married to your father for thirty-five years. I know love when I see it and I know lust when I see it. And let me tell you, honey, you don't got either one of those for Terrence." She paused, giving her daughter a moment to absorb her words before continuing. "And compared to the way you look at Joseph, I don't think you ever have."

The room grew still, the air thick with accusation and truth. Chelsea felt the heat rising in her cheeks but she kept her composure. "Momma, you're reading too much into it," she replied, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. "Nothing to worry about."

Her mother's expression softened, but the knowing glint in her eye didn't fade. "Look, baby," she said, taking Chelsea's hand, "I'm not judging you. But I am your mother, and I know you. I want you to be happy. And if that means making some hard choices, then maybe it's time for you to consider what truly makes you happy. I know I have put a lot of pressure on you to find a good man, to marry well, and I'm sorry. I really am. But that doesn't mean you should settle for someone who doesn't take care of you."

Chelsea felt the weight of her mother's words, and she couldn't help but look over at Joe, who was chuckling at a story Gianna was telling. His eyes caught hers briefly, and she saw a hint of understanding in them, as if he knew what she was feeling. She turned back to her mother, unsure of what to say. "Momma, I'm okay. Really. Terrence is a good man. We're just going through a rough patch, that's all. Don't worry about me."

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. "Chelsea, I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about you wasting your life on a man who doesn't make you feel like the way you should." She took a deep breath. "Your father and I, we have our problems, but we always make sure to keep the spark alive. And let me tell you, the way you look at Joseph? That's a spark that could light up the whole damn neighborhood."

Her mother pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her ear, "Just remember, baby, you deserve to be happy. And if that happiness isn't with Terrence, then maybe it's with someone else. I will always be proud of you, no matter what." With a knowing smile, she released her and returned to the dinner table. Chelsea felt a mix of relief and fear wash over her. It wasn't the first time her mother had hinted at her dissatisfaction with Terrence, but it was the first time she'd ever suggested that Chelsea's eye had wandered.

The evening ended with polite goodbyes and promises of future visits. As Joe and Gianna left, Joe gave Chelsea one last lingering look that sent shivers down her spine. Terrence, blissfully unaware of the tension, collapsed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. But as Chelsea lay in bed, her thoughts were consumed by Joe's words and her mother's warning. Was she really just going through a phase, or had she found something real? And if so, was it worth risking everything for?

The following days were a blur of work, social engagements, and secret glances. Chelsea and Joe danced around each other, the air thick with unspoken desires and fears. They didn't dare to text or call, not with their spouses so close by, but the silence between them was deafening. It was during one particularly stressful workday that Chelsea decided she needed to get out of the office. She drove aimlessly, her mind racing until she found herself parked outside Joe's office building.

Her heart pounding, she waited until she saw him emerge, his tall frame cutting a stark contrast against the grey concrete. He looked surprised when he saw her, but there was something in his eyes that told her he'd been expecting this. They decided to grab a quick lunch at a nearby café, choosing a secluded booth in the back. The conversation was stilted at first, filled with awkward pauses and forced laughter, but eventually, the dam broke. They talked about their marriages, their dreams, their fears, and their longing for something more. Chelsea felt as though she was peeling back layers of herself she hadn't realized were there, revealing parts she'd kept hidden even from her own husband.

"I hired a divorce attorney," Joe announced, his voice low and serious. "I can't keep pretending anymore, Chelsea."

Her eyes widened, and she took a sip of her iced tea, the condensation on the glass slipping over her fingers. "Okay," she breathed out. "Okay."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog. Chelsea felt a rush of emotions—relief, excitement, fear, and guilt. She knew that she felt the same way, that she couldn't continue living a lie, but the prospect of the truth coming to light was terrifying. She took a deep breath and leaned in, her eyes finding Joe's.

"Look, I don't expect you to leave Terrence today, or even a month from now," Joe said, his gaze focused on hers. "But I want you to know that I'm serious about this. I haven't seen Gianna in weeks, and when I do, it's for appearances only. Even if we weren't doing this," he gestured between them, "I would've ended it because neither of us is happy and I know she's just waiting for me to take the first step."

Chelsea's stomach twisted into knots. The thought of leaving Terrence and the life she'd built with him was overwhelming. Yet, she felt a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could have the love she craved with Joe. She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "I'll think about it," she murmured.

They finished their lunch in near silence, the conversation drifting back to work and the mundane. It was a strange dance of normalcy in the face of a revelation that could shatter their worlds. When the check came, Joe reached for it, his hand brushing hers. The electricity that passed between them was undeniable. As they stood to leave, Chelsea felt a strange mix of excitement and dread.

They both retreated back to their own offices as the day wound down. As Chelsea drove back home, every red light, every stop sign, felt like a countdown to a moment that would change everything. When she pulled into her driveway, the house was dark. Terrence was still at the hospital. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

Once inside, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch, the same couch where she and Joe had first given into temptation. She couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her at the memory. But she knew that if she acted on Joe’s confession, she would be crossing a line from which there was no returning. The weight of their shared secret grew heavier by the second.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Joe, "You okay?"

Chelsea took a sip of wine, the liquid doing little to soothe her nerves. She responded, "Yeah, just processing."

Joe's reply was almost instant, "We don't have to rush into anything. I just needed you to know where I stand."

The gravity of Joe's words sank in. Chelsea knew that once they made this move, there would be no going back. The walls of her marriage, which had felt so stifling, now felt like a cocoon protecting her from the inevitable storm that lay ahead. But as she sat there, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through her, she knew she didn't want to be protected anymore. She wanted the raw, unfiltered passion that Joe brought to her life.

The next night, Chelsea had resolved to break the news to Terrence. She waited for him to come home from a short day of consultations, her heart racing as she heard his footsteps through the front door. She took a deep breath as she opened the door, a bit miffed but not surprised when he completely brushed past her, heading for their drinks cart without so much as a hello. He was always like this after a day of dealing with patients and their families—distant, cold.

"Terrence, can we talk?" she called out, her voice echoing through their grand foyer. He didn’t respond immediately, taking his sweet time to fix himself a whiskey on the rocks before finally walking into the living room and reaching for the TV remote. Chelsea bit her lip, steeling herself for the conversation she’d been dreading. She’d picked out her words carefully, rehearsing the speech in her mind a hundred times. But now, with him so disconnected, it was harder than she thought.

He took a sip, his eyes never leaving the flickering screen. "What is it, Chelsea?"

Chelsea took a step closer to him, her heart hammering in her chest. "I have to tell you something. It's important."

"Yeah, okay," Terrence said distractedly, his gaze still glued to the TV.

Chelsea took a deep breath, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. "Terrence, I've been thinking a lot about us."

He finally tore his eyes away from the TV, looking at her with a mix of irritation and curiosity. "Chelsea, what is it?" The words were choppy, as if he had to force them out.

"I'm having an affair with Joe," Chelsea blurted out, the words leaving her mouth before she could second-guess herself. Terrence froze, the glass of whiskey halfway to his lips. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the low volume from the TV. His eyes grew wide, and his grip on the glass tightened.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Terrence's voice was low, a warning growl. He set the drink down hard on the coffee table, the ice clinking against the glass.

Chelsea swallowed, her throat dry. "I've been seeing Joe. We've been having an affair."

Terrence's face contorted into a mask of rage and disbelief. He took a step towards her, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You what? How could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry, Terrence," Chelsea said, her voice trembling as she took a step back.

"You're sorry? That's all you have to say?" Terrence's voice was a thunderstorm, his eyes flashing with anger. He took another step closer to her, and she could almost feel the heat of his rage. "How long has this been going on?"

"It just happened," Chelsea lied, her voice shaking. "I'm filing for divorce."

Terrence's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare do this to me, Chelsea." He stepped closer, his towering frame looming over her. "We had an agreement, a promise to each other and our families."

"I know, but I can't help how I feel," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not happy anymore, Terrence."

"You're not happy?" Terrence's voice was incredulous. "So you go fuck your married neighbor? Do you hear yourself?"

Chelsea flinched at the harshness of his words, but she stood her ground. "It's not just that, Terrence. We've been drifting apart for a while now. We're not the same people we were when we met in college."

"You think I don't know that?" Terrence snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Does Gianna know that you fucked her husband?"

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt stab at her. "I don't know, Terrence. That's on Joe to tell her."

Terrence took another step towards her, his breath hot on her face. "You're unbelievable. You're going to ruin everything we've built together."

Chelsea's eyes filled with tears. "I know, but I can't keep living like this. I need more than just a good last name and a nice house."

Terrence's expression softened slightly, but the anger was still a palpable force between them. "What do you want from me, Chelsea? What could I possibly do to fix this?"

"It's not about fixing, Terrence," she said, her voice firm but filled with sadness. "It's about accepting that we're not right for each other anymore."

Terrence's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of doubt or regret. Finding none, he sighed heavily. "I don't know what to say. I just... I don't get it."

"You don't have to," Chelsea replied, wiping away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. "I just need you to understand that I'm walking away. I don't expect you to be okay with it, but I need you to respect my decision."

The silence between them grew thick, each one of Terrence's breaths seemingly louder than the last. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter, more measured. "What now, Chelsea? What's your plan?"

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable. "I'm going to file for divorce. I booked a room at Marriott Downtown for a few days. I need some space to think."

Terrence's face fell, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "And Joe? What about him?"

"What about him?" Chelsea challenged, her voice laced with defensiveness. "He's going to leave Gianna. He loves me."

Terrence scoffed. "Love? You think this is love? You're throwing away our marriage for a quick fuck and a few moments of excitement? That's not love, Chelsea."

Chelsea's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't get to define love for me, Terrence. You don't get to tell me what I feel. Even if Joe doesn't leave Gianna, I need to find myself again. This isn't just about sex. It's about connection and what I need to be happy."

Terrence stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I can't believe this is happening." He turned away from her, his hand rubbing at his forehead. "Go to the Marriott, whatever. Just do me a favor and break the news to our parents yourself. Tell them what the fuck you did, yeah?"

With that, he stormed out of the living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Chelsea stood there, trembling, her heart racing in her chest. She had never seen Terrence like this before—so raw, so broken. The reality of what she had done began to sink in, and she felt the weight of their crumbling marriage pressing down on her. She picked up her phone, staring at the screen, Joe's contact staring back at her but she couldn't bring herself to press the call button.

Instead, she turned and walked out the front door, the cool night air hitting her like a slap in the face. The quietness of the neighborhood was eerie, a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm brewing in her soul. She wandered the streets, her thoughts racing. Was this love? Was she being selfish? Would she regret this? But with each step, she felt a sense of relief, as if she were shedding a heavy burden she had been carrying for too long.

The drive was a blur of streetlights and the occasional passing car. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was driving away from everything she had ever known and into the unknown. Her mind was racing with the consequences of her actions, the potential for scandal, and the pain she knew she had caused Terrence. Yet, as she pulled into the Marriott parking lot, she felt a strange sense of liberation. For the first time in years, she was making a decision solely for herself.

In the hotel room, Chelsea took a deep breath and picked up the phone, her hand shaking. She dialed Joe's number, the anticipation building with each ring. When he finally answered, she could hear the tension in his voice. "Hey," she whispered, "I did it. Terrence knows."

There was a heavy pause on the other end, and then Joe exhaled. It was a deep, relieved sigh, one that told her everything she needed to know about his reaction. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

"Honestly, yeah," she replied truthfully, "I think I've been holding this in for so long that it feels like a weight has been lifted. What about you?"

Joe took a moment before speaking, "It was weird, she didn't fight with me. Just said 'okay' and asked me to leave," Despite the tension in his voice, Chelsea couldn't miss the hint of relief. "But it's the right thing to do, I know it is."

"What's going to happen now?" she asked, her heart racing.

"I could come see you?" Joe suggested tentatively, "We could talk about it in person."

Chelsea felt a warm rush of excitement at the thought. "Okay," she murmured, "I'll be waiting." She hung up the phone and paced the room, trying to calm her racing thoughts. When Joe finally arrived, the tension between them was palpable. He looked tired, his eyes carrying the weight of the day's revelations. His arms were warm, strong, and comforting as he pulled her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean for it to go down like that."

Joe held her tighter, his breath warm against her hair. "It's okay," he murmured, "This is on me too. We both knew this wasn't going to be easy." He led her to the bed, his hand never leaving hers, and they sat down. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

"I want you to know that I'm all in," Joe said, his voice firm but gentle, breaking the silence. "Whatever happens next, I'm here for you. Romantically or otherwise."

Chelsea looked up at him, her eyes searching his for any signs of doubt. All she found was a fierce determination that mirrored her own. "I'm all in too," she whispered, her heart swelling with emotion.

They lay down together, their bodies fitting perfectly. Chelsea felt a sense of peace that she hadn't felt in years. Joe kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, before capturing her lips in a gentle, yet urgent kiss. The kiss grew deeper, more passionate, as their bodies began to move in sync. They made love slowly, savoring each touch, each caress, as if it were the first and last time. Their moans filled the quiet hotel room, echoing off the walls in sweet surrender.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, the silence between them no longer filled with tension but a quiet understanding. "On the bright side," Chelsea spoke up, a small smile playing on her lips, "I don't mind taking you to a firm event. Terrence never gave me the chance to introduce him to my coworkers."

Joe chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I guess that'll be our first official appearance together, huh?" He stroked her arm lightly, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. "I can't wait to tell the world you're all mine. That you chose me over all the other eligible married men out there."

"Stupid," Chelsea muttered, narrowing her eyes as Joe laughed at his own joke. "But true," she conceded with a smile, snuggling closer to him. "I can't wait to kiss you in public. Without hiding."

Joe's eyes grew serious as he pulled her closer. "We'll do it right," he promised. "I'll introduce you to my colleagues, my friends, my family. And we'll tell them the truth—that we're together because we love each other, no more guilt, no more anxiety."

The warmth of Joe's embrace washed over Chelsea like a gentle summer rain, soothing her raw emotions. She nodded, feeling the weight of her decision settle into her bones. As they lay together, the silence was punctuated only by their synchronized breaths and the muffled sounds of the bustling city outside. The reality of their newfound freedom both thrilling and terrifying.

[fourmoony]

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞

james potter x f!reader

fluff. 1.5k.

Summary: James brings home a baby. A baby that is not kidnapped.

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - masterlist

...

James is standing in the doorway with a baby in his arms.

You’re so grateful he’s even there, that he’s made it back alive – albeit a little bloody and battered, glasses askew and his face covered in dirt – but alive nonetheless, that you don’t even notice the baby, bundled in a warm, fluffy blanket, wrapped safely in his arms. He’s bouncing his arms gently, probably trying to soothe the baby who’s making soft noises, and it’s really a sight to behold. It’s not until he steps through the doorway and gives you a nervous, lopsided smile that you fully register your boyfriend is holding a baby.

You blink. Once, twice. A third time.

James grows progressively more antsy. He chews his busted lip, winces, and then shifts back and forth on his feet. You have no idea where he could even have procured a baby. He’s been on an order mission for the past four days, scouting possible allies with the vampires whilst simultaneously moving important potions ingredients from one safe house to another, making sure the Death Eaters are always two steps behind order movements. Realistically, there’s been zero opportunity for James to come across a baby that he could just – take home.

“You’re home,” You breathe, because truly, that’s the most important part of the whole ordeal. James is here. He’s safe. He’s alive. Another mission down, and James has returned home. So, you’re glad. Grateful, unbelievably so. But also confused. Deeply confused.

“You have questions,” James is arguably calm about the situation, like he’d expected you to be eyeing him with hesitation – he was right – and he’s already rehearsed this in his head. “That’s normal.”

“Normal,” You repeat, the word tasting foreign on your tongue because nothing about this is normal. “Jamie, you’re holding a baby. Tell me we’re just like, babysitting, or something and you haven’t kidnapped someone’s child!”

James winces at your – albeit, quiet – yelling. The baby whimpers in his arms and immediately James shushes it, bouncing slightly on the spot with a desperate look in his eyes. He’s out of his depth, it’s obvious by the panicked way he’s looking between you and the baby, something pleading in his eyes.

“I didn’t kidnap her,” James argues childishly.

Okay, so, the baby is a girl. And James didn’t kidnap her. You turn and walk towards the kitchen, James follows, hot on your heels. The kitchen is a bit of a mess. There are your dishes from dinner, the bin is full, and there’s a couple of empty cartons for the recycling dotted on the counter closest to the back garden door. But James doesn’t flinch, he surveys his surroundings, but ultimately ignores the mess you’ve allowed to take over the small space in the days he’s been away.

“We were flying over Surrey when Marls spotted the dark mark over a muggle area,” James launches into explanation while you busy yourself with leaning over the sink and running the warm water. “We stopped to assess damage, but the Aurors were already there. Her family was killed, baby. The muggle government won’t touch the scene with a ten-foot pole – not that the baby had any other family, anyway, Alice already checked – and the Ministry won’t do anything except send her to an orphanage.”

The suds around your hands suddenly feel too much. The soup crusted around the side of your dinner bowl won’t come off and you scrub aggressively at it, focussing on that instead of the fact that your boyfriend has essentially just told you he’s informally adopted a child at random, without discussing it with you first.

Well, you know there was no time for him to discuss it. You can’t be mad at him for that. And, really, you can’t be angry at him, either, for bringing her to your home. She’s safe here. She’s already suffered an incredible amount of trauma, and she barely looks more than three months old. Your heart softens with your resolve, and you lift your head to look out of the window above the sink. The cottage you and James live in was a gift from his parents – a gift that had made you incredibly overwhelmed until you found out it had been under their ownership since before James was born, anyway – and has enough room for a swing set and a slide, maybe a trampoline. There’s a spare room, upstairs. Sirius will grumble about giving up his room for when he visits, but you’re sure he’ll get over it with some encouragement from Remus. The cottage is pretty much baby proof for James and Sirius’ sake, anyway. You have enough expendable income to completely kit out an emergency nursery necessary.

The argument isn’t really that you can’t afford to have a baby, or that you don’t have space for a baby. It’s that you’re nineteen, a year out of Hogwarts and in the middle of a war. Things are bad, times are scary, James is gone at least a week out of every month, you spend most of your days confined to the inside of a potions lab with Lily, making key potions that the Order need to work efficiently. You’re still kids yourselves, fighting a war that is taking everything from you.

But the way James is holding her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, rocking her, and cooing at her, you melt when you turn to face them, and it just feels – right, you suppose.

James looks up, smiles tentatively. You’ve always known he’ll be a great dad. He’s so full of light and love. When he loves, he loves with his entire heart. He loves dotingly and loyally. He’s so sure, standing there. Even though you can tell he’s trying to respect you, waiting to show his excitement until he knows how you feel, you can also see how much love he already has for this little girl, how sure he is that here, with him and with you, is the best place for her.

You take a step towards him, around the kitchen island, and hold your arms out wordlessly. He places her in your arms so gently and then watches as your eyes meet hers. They’re big and round and so blue you feel the breath hitch in your throat. She’s gorgeous. Big puffy cheeks and tufts of dark hair on her small little head. Her tiny lips are curved into a tired pout. You can’t help the smile that overcomes you. When your eyes lift – reluctantly – James is staring at you both. There’s something sickly sweet about the look in his eyes, warm like coffee, sweet like honey.

“We’re at war, Jamie,” You tell him, “Having a baby is a bad idea.”

James nods, “I know.”

A beat of silence passes. An understanding, maybe. It’s a bad time to be two nineteen-year-olds having a baby. But it’s there, in the way James looks at you. He’s never been one to have perfect timing. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of an argument. He asked you to move in with him after school when the first Daily Prophet announcement about the war being confirmed happened. He’s brought a baby home out of nowhere, in the middle of said war. But it feels right. Holding her in your arms, James standing so close you can feel his warmth.

“What’s her name?” You ask, smiling sweetly at James.

He beams. He just – he beams. You know that he knows, then. You’re in. For better or worse.

“No idea. Alice had the muggle police contact the muggle social workers, who had no idea of anything about her. Bit of a mystery, really. But we get to keep her. Keep her safe, love her, raise her. So, I think it worked out. Is that bad?" James whips his head up, like his words surprised himself.

You chuckle lightly, "A little."

"What do you think we should name her?" You ask, eyes flitting back down to her. She's fallen over into sleep, blue irises gone from the world and you feel a tinge of sadness. You miss the bright blue of them, already. She's huffing softly, lips parted cutely. There's something magical about the way she's captured your heart in ten minutes flat. She might have magical powers, after all.

"Not sure. We can think on it. Our meeting with the ministry to officially adopt isn't until Monday." James speaks softly, in awe of the sight of you both.

You nod, "We better ring for Sirius and Remus, send them off for a cot, and then coax them into helping us build it."

You hand her over to James, he takes her, and then make for the phone. James stops you when he speaks, voice an amused whisper, lips pressed to her head, "They're already on their way."

"You knew I'd say yes."

"I knew you'd say yes. How could you not? Look at her." James is all honey voiced as he coos and holds the baby up for you to see and you melt.

She's the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're in awe. She's got your heart, well and truly. It's a strange feeling, to have such adoration for a human so small, who you've only just met. But you know you'll lay your life down to protect her. You'd do anything to make sure she's safe. She promises love, in the darkest time. You can already see the difference in James since returning home. He's lighter, full of smiles, gentle, happy. Usually, after missions, James is dark and brooding. He's filled with a darkness that only being a soldier can bring about.

James is looking at her so lovingly it makes you want to cry. She's happiness, and love. She's-

"Hope." You say, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

James looks up, brows furrowed, a question.

"Hope Potter." You affirm, tears in your eyes.

Your heart fills when James leans forward, presses a kiss to your lips, careful not to jostle Hope, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you. Both."